Category: Personal Responsibility

Living Inside History

Every generation believes it’s living through extraordinary change.

And in a way, every generation is right.

Economic strain, political division, conflict, and rapid technological change appear in different forms, but the underlying tension remains the same.

Ray Dalio describes what he calls the Big Cycle. The rise and decline of nations shaped by debt, money, internal division, and shifting global power. He would say we’re late in that cycle, marked by high debt, widening wealth gaps, and growing competition among world powers.

Harry Dent approaches history through demographics, studying population growth, and generational spending patterns. From his view, today’s economic strain reflects aging populations, slower growth, and the unwinding of decades of expansion.

Different perspectives. Similar conclusions.

Neither claim to predict the future with precision. Debt cycles, demographic waves, generational moods, technological revolutions, and geopolitical tensions move simultaneously. Understanding these forces and their patterns helps us recognize the currents. How we live within them is still our responsibility.

I remember the OPEC oil embargo of the 1970s and gas lines stretching for blocks. I was in elementary school as interest rates climbed above twenty percent. I watched the Reagan Revolution reshape economic thinking and bring supply-side theory into the mainstream.

I lived through the Iranian Revolution in 1979, the taking of US hostages, and the subsequent spread of militant extremism across parts of the Muslim world over the next four decades. I watched an airplane strike the World Trade Center in real time.

I grew up under the shadow of the Cold War, when nuclear conflict felt possible at any moment. I saw the optimism that followed the fall of the Soviet Union and then watched China open to the world after decades of isolation. I remember the theories about how expanding capitalism in China might soften their communist approach to governing.

I witnessed the savings and loan collapse, multiple stock market crashes, the Great Recession, and a global pandemic that disrupted economies, institutions, and families alike. I watched how strongly governments grasp control when certainty disappears.

I saw personal computers and then the internet transform daily life, followed by the digital economy, smartphones, social media, and now artificial intelligence reshaping work itself.

I can think of countless other historical events that have happened in the span of one life. Each moment felt unprecedented. Each reshaped the world, sometimes positively, sometimes negatively.

And yet, life continued.

When history is written, it focuses almost entirely on macro events. The narratives are dominated by wars, collapses, elections, revolutions, and markets. What rarely appears are the countless individual lives unfolding quietly alongside these events.

History does not record families eating dinner together during times of high inflation. Nor does it record weddings that took place during recessions or children born during wars. It overlooks the laughter that survived fear and the quiet courage required to just keep going.

But these individual experiences of life form the definition of humanity.

For every name preserved in textbooks, millions of people were doing what people have always done. They worked. They loved. They raised children. They cared for neighbors. They hoped tomorrow might be a little better than today.

Macro forces shape conditions. They influence opportunity and may narrow our options. They may, unfortunately, end our life or the lives of someone we love. But they don’t define a life.

Inside every macro upheaval exists our “micro” life. The life lived within the headlines rather than dictated by them.

The world may determine interest rates. It does not decide whether we act with kindness. It may influence careers, but it does not control our integrity. It may introduce hardship, but it does not determine how we respond.

Our response is where freedom still lives.

Viktor Frankl understood this more clearly than almost anyone. After enduring unimaginable suffering in Nazi concentration camps, he observed that nearly all external freedoms can be taken from a person. One freedom remains intact. The ability to choose one’s attitude and response to circumstances.

Events may constrain us. They may demand adaptation. They will never own our human spirit.

In my office, I have a wall filled with photographs. Family gatherings. Wedding days. Trips taken together. Beautiful places. Ordinary moments that became lasting memories.

When I step back and look at this wall, patterns appear.

We worked hard.

We made time for one another.

We traveled together.

We celebrated milestones.

We were living out our hopes and dreams, and we still are.

My wall has no charts or financial forecasts. No macro trend lines. But it tells the story of what matters most.

None of these moments waited for ideal conditions. They unfolded alongside inflation, recessions, political change, and uncertainty. The photographs capture lives shaped by ordinary but important choices made amid extraordinary times.

As we traveled, we met families across many countries. Different customs. Different faiths. Different governments. Yet everywhere we went, the hopes sounded familiar. Parents wanting the best for their children. Families striving for opportunity. Communities longing to contribute and belong.

The differences emphasized by the world shrink quickly when people speak about those they love.

Human aspirations remain remarkably consistent.

History changes its outward form. The heart changes very little.

You will live through upheavals of your own. Some will be frightening. Some will be unfair. Some will test your trust in institutions or leaders.

Remember this.

You are not responsible for controlling history. You are responsible for how you live inside it.

You will not choose the history that surrounds you. You will choose the values you carry through it.

You choose how you treat people.

You choose how to adapt.

You choose how you show up for your family.

You choose whether uncertainty hardens you or deepens your compassion.

You choose whether fear leads or faith steadies you.

These are your choices. Always.

Humanity endures because ordinary people continue to build their lives amid uncertainty. They love, they work, they fail, they adapt, and they hope, even while larger forces move around them.

While empires rise and fall, families persist.

That is the quiet march you belong to. Rarely captured by historians yet carried forward by generations.

History happens around you.

Life happens within you.

Live your life well. Love deeply. Work honestly. Stay flexible. Hold your faith. Care for one another.

If you do that, you will live a meaningful life regardless of when you were born.

As I was finishing this post, I found these quotes from George Bernard Shaw. The words come from two different writings of his from the early 1900’s. Together they express something important about what it means to live well within whatever history hands us.

“This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being a force of Nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy. “

“I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community, and as long as I live it is my privilege to do for it whatsoever I can. I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work the more I live. I rejoice in life for its own sake. Life is no ‘brief candle’ for me. It is a sort of splendid torch, which I have got hold of for the moment; and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations.”

h/t – Atkins Bookshelf

Photo by Federico Giampieri on Unsplash

If this post resonated with you, feel free to share it with someone who might appreciate it as well.

You can also listen to the Grandpa Bob Encouraging Leadership Podcast, where I share short reflections on leadership, life, and learning.

Thanks for reading!

AI as Iteration (at Scale)

We call it Artificial Intelligence, but large language models don’t think, reason, or understand in human terms.

A more accurate description might be Artificial Idea Iteration since these tools dramatically compress the cycles of research, drafting, testing, and revision.

SpaceX didn’t transform spaceflight by having perfect ideas. They collapsed the time between ideas and reality. Failing fast, learning quickly, and iterating relentlessly.

AI creates the same dynamic for knowledge work, letting us move from intuition to articulation to revision in hours instead of weeks.

Engineers rely on wind tunnels to test aircraft designs before committing real materials and lives. AI does this for thinking.

Iteration itself isn’t new. What’s new is the scale for iteration that we now have at our fingertips. We can explore multiple paths, abandon weak directions quickly, and refine promising ones without the time, coordination, and risk that once kept ideas locked in our heads.

When iteration becomes inexpensive, we can take more intellectual risks and shift from trying to always be right to trying to always get better.

It’s ironic that as iteration is becoming cheaper and faster with AI tools, human judgment becomes more valuable. Someone still needs to know what’s worth developing, what deserves refinement, and when something is complete rather than exhausted.

The intelligence was never in the machine. AI simply gives us the capacity to develop ideas, test them against reality, and learn from the results at a scale and speed we’ve never had before.

Iteration at scale changes what’s possible. Judgment determines what’s worth pursuing.

Photo by SpaceX on Unsplash – when SpaceX proposed the idea of landing and reusing their rocket boosters after each launch, the idea seemed impossible. Now it’s happening about 3 times per week…and they’re just getting started. 

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Decision Time

A decision sits in front of us, waiting.

We turn it over in our head. We ask a few more questions. We look for one more data point. We check with another person whose opinion we respect. We wait for the timing to feel right.

And still, we hesitate.

We tell ourselves we need more information. More time. More certainty.

Indecision usually grows from very human places. Fear of being wrong. Fear of being blamed. Fear of choosing a path that can’t be undone. Fear of embarrassment.

Add decision fatigue to the mix and postponement starts to feel reasonable.

Meanwhile, the cost of waiting accumulates quietly. Teams stall. Momentum fades. Confidence erodes. What began as a thoughtful pause turns into drift.

Most leadership decisions are made without perfect information. Progress rarely waits for certainty.

So, what is our hesitation really telling us?

Sometimes, it’s a clear no. A request pulls us away from what matters most. We don’t like what we see, but we’re not sure why. Maybe a partnership doesn’t sit right with our values. In these moments, extended thinking isn’t searching for clarity. It’s searching for a way to explain our decision.

Other times, we hesitate because the decision stretches us. It introduces uncertainty. It raises our visibility. It asks more of us than we feel ready to give. Growth decisions usually feel uncomfortable before they feel right.

At some point, the data stops improving and the waiting stops helping.

Start small. Take a step that tests the decision rather than locking it in. Forward motion reveals new information…something thinking alone can’t.

A decision that turns out to be wrong isn’t failure.

It’s feedback.

And feedback points us toward our next decision.

“Whenever you see a successful business, someone once made a courageous decision.”
— Peter F. Drucker

Photo by ChatGPT’s new image generator, which is way better than prior versions of the tool.

Doing the Thing

Writing a song is like fishing, Kenny Chesney once said. Some days you catch something beautiful. The melody, the moment, the truth. Other days, you sit there all day with nothing but frustration and a stubborn belief that it’s still worth being out there.

That kind of wisdom transcends genres. Ernest Hemingway spent his life circling the same idea. That real art happens when we show up. Whether facing a blank page, a marlin that wouldn’t bite, or a battle that couldn’t be won, he believed the only way to live fully was to move, to act, to engage.

His work embodied a simple truth. The shortest answer is doing the thing. For him, wisdom wasn’t found in thinking about life, but in living it. No clever phrasing. No shortcuts. Just the act itself. Simple, honest, alive.

We spend so much of life thinking about what we might do, planning what we should do, waiting until we feel ready to begin. But readiness rarely arrives on its own. The line stays slack until you cast it. The song stays silent until you play it. The story remains untold until you write it.

Sometimes we catch something incredible. Other times, nothing.

Either way, we were there. Present. Awake. Participating in the work and wonder of life.

Maybe that’s the whole point.

A life well-lived must first be lived.

Photo by Shojol Islam on Unsplash – I wonder if he’ll catch something on this cast. Maybe. Maybe not. But, he’s in the game, giving it his best shot and that’s what matters.

The Noonday Devil and the Lie of Boredom

Psalm 91 promises safety from dangers both visible and invisible, from “the terror by night” to “the arrow that flieth by day.”

In verse 6, we read: “Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday.”

The Desert Fathers, those early Christians who left the cities around the third and fourth centuries to live in the desert, drew on this verse to describe one of their deepest spiritual struggles. They called it the noonday devil.

This devil represents an interior battle, a weariness of the soul that crept in at midday when the sun beat down, the silence grew heavy, and the temptation to abandon their prayer and vocation felt overwhelming.

They named this struggle acedia. Sometimes it’s translated as sloth, but it is much more than that.

How many kids have said to their parents, “I’m bored.” We remind them that boredom is in their heads. They can use their imagination, find a book, or play outside. And if that doesn’t land, we parents always have another cure for their boredom: chores.

It’s amazing how quickly boredom vanishes when a child is handed a rake, a shovel, or a basket of laundry to fold.

Boredom is what happens when we can’t see the meaning in what we’re doing. Acedia is boredom’s older cousin. Spiritual weariness with much deeper stakes.

It’s restlessness, a refusal to care, a loss of joy in the very things that give life meaning. It can show up as distraction or busyness. Acedia tempts us to walk away when the middle of the journey feels too long and too heavy.

I think of the countless days spent inching along in rush-hour traffic, morning after morning, just to get to work. I’d put in a full day’s work, then crawl through another hour or more of brake lights to get home. The next day brought the same routine. After a while, it was easy to think maybe the whole thing had no meaning.

That’s the noonday devil at work.

The midpoints of life test us in a similar way. Paying bills, the daily grind of a career without clear progress, responsibilities that seem to grow heavier without much relief. Our internal voice asks, “How can I escape? Should I look for something easier?”

Jean-Charles Nault’s The Noonday Devil: Acedia, the Unnamed Evil of Our Times says this ancient struggle is alive and well today. It shows up in constant scrolling, in working ourselves to exhaustion to avoid deeper questions, in chasing novelty because the present moment feels too heavy.

The Desert Fathers found the answer was to persevere through, but with far more than sheer willpower. Keep praying, even when prayer feels dry. Stay faithful to commitments, even when they feel heavy. Lean into your community rather than isolating from it. Practice humility and remember that perseverance is possible only by God’s grace.

What does this look like? When we feel the pull toward endless scrolling, we might instead text a friend or call a family member. When work feels meaningless, we can remember the people our efforts serve, even if indirectly. When prayer feels empty, we show up anyway, trusting that faithfulness itself has value beyond our feelings in the moment.

The noonday devil tempts us to think that only extraordinary lives matter. But as Oliver Burkeman points out in his idea of “cosmic insignificance therapy,” recognizing our smallness frees us to find profound meaning in ordinary acts.

The daily work of caring for children, preparing meals, or showing up for neighbors and friends carries as much weight as anything could. These acts may never make headlines, but in God’s eyes they shine with eternal value.

Persevering in small, steady commitments resists acedia and helps us discover joy in the very places where meaning often hides.

Psalm 91 carries a promise, “He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust.”

God invites us to rest beneath His wings, to trust Him in the heat of the day, and to discover joy at the very heart of our journey.

Faithfulness in the ordinary is never wasted. Under His wings, even the smallest acts take on eternal meaning.

h/t – Hallow app – Noonday Devil; Tim Ferris – Oliver Burkeman’s Cosmic Insignificance Therapy

Photo by Mauro Lima on Unsplash

Things I Wish I Knew When I Was Your Age

I sat down recently to write a letter to my cousin (technically my first cousin once removed), who just started basic training in the Air Force.

What began as a quick note turned into something more. A personal reflection, a bit of a manifesto, and a stack of lessons I wish someone had handed to me when I was just setting out.

By the time I hit “save,” I realized this may be worth sharing with any young person taking their first real steps into the adult world.

The letter was full of life updates, jokes, birthday party planning, movie recommendations, and the occasional 10-year-old version of myself asking random questions. But the main message was you can do hard things, and you’re not alone.

What follows are some ideas that come from years of learning, leading, failing, and reflecting. These are lessons for anyone who finds themselves on the edge of something new.

Leadership begins and ends in your head. Most of your real battles are internal. That voice in your head? It can lift you up or hold you back. Especially in an environment full of rules and pressure, how you think will define who you become. Supportive self-talk, resilient thinking, steady choices.  These are the foundational traits for leadership.

Start before you’re ready. Showing up takes more courage than people realize. You will rarely have everything figured out before you begin. Your best opportunities for growth will come from figuring things out while under pressure. That discomfort you feel is a sign that you’re on the edge of growth.

Do the next right thing. When life gets overwhelming (and it will), it helps to stop trying to solve everything all at once. Pause. Breathe. Do the next right thing. That’s enough. The bigger picture tends to take care of itself when we’re faithful and focus on the next indicated step.

You belong here. The feeling that maybe you’re not ready, or that someone else would be better suited for the challenge in front of you. That’s normal. But it doesn’t mean you don’t belong. The truth is you do belong. You’ve earned the right to be where you are. And you’re growing stronger every day, even if it doesn’t feel like it in the moment.

Respect is the foundation of everything. Not just the kind of respect that comes from rank or titles, but the kind you live out through humility, consistency, and quiet honor. When you offer that kind of respect, you build trust. And trust is what makes people want to follow your lead.

When the going gets tough, remember why you started. Every hard day will test your resolve. Every early morning, every setback, every lonely hour…these are the places where you’ll either lose sight of your purpose or anchor more deeply into it. Purpose doesn’t remove difficulty, but it gives meaning to the difficulty. And that’s enough to carry you through.

Discipline equals freedom. I shared this piece of advice that comes from Jocko Willink, former Navy SEAL, war veteran, and a powerful voice on discipline and leadership. He says, “Discipline equals freedom.” The more discipline you have, the more freedom you gain.

Discipline gives you control. Over your body, your mind, and your choices.  Freedom to choose your future. Freedom to trust yourself. Freedom to follow through, especially when motivation fades.

You won’t always feel motivated. That’s okay. Stay disciplined. Show up. Do the work. That’s how you earn freedom. One decision at a time.

“Don’t wish it were easier. Wish you were better.” A classic quote from Jim Rohn. There’s no shortage of obstacles. The goal isn’t to escape them. It’s to grow strong enough to rise above them. The learning curve is real.  Learn, adapt, overcome…become better and things will become much easier. 

About those movie recommendations I mentioned earlier. It’s probably more accurate to call them story recommendations.  Stories about honor, resilience, human ingenuity, and the willingness to keep going when things are difficult. 

We Were Soldiers, an amazingly good movie about strategic servant leadership (which is my preferred style of management), bravery, and the love that comrades in arms have for one another.  It’s a great tribute to the men who fought (many who gave their lives for the guy next to them) and their brave families back home.  I think I’ve seen it at least 25 times and I’m happy to watch it anytime. Each time I watch it, I tear up in at least 2 or 3 places in the movie. 

Ocean’s 11 and The Sting, two films that focus on creative problem solving and teamwork…though our “heroes” in these movies are con men and thieves. 

The Princess Bride made the list. The value of honor (even among combatants), mixed with the comedic and spoofy scenes make it a classic. Even in a world of duels and danger, kindness, respect and loyalty still matter.

I suggested Seveneves by Neal Stephenson. A science fiction novel (my favorite genre for at least the past 10 years) about human survival, adaptation, and rebuilding civilization after catastrophe. The premise is that an asteroid causes the moon to shatter.  What starts out as an oddity in the sky becomes a calamity as the moon breaks up into a ring and then begins to rain down to Earth (something they call the Hard Rain).  Great sci-fi, lots of human ingenuity and adaptability, and a story that covers about 5,000 years.  It’ll take some time to read, but it’s worth it.

Two books by Andy Weir.  The first is The Martian (which became a movie starring Matt Damon), and the second is Project Hail Mary.  Andy wrote The Martian in 2011 and self-published it on Amazon.  It picked up fans and became a bestseller without an “official” publisher.  His second book was called Artemis (takes place on the Moon).  It was good, but not quite as good as The Martian (which is a high standard, so I’m probably being unfair). 

His third book was Project Hail Mary.  This one is also being made into a movie, starring Ryan Gosling. It is excellent. 

The big thing about Andy’s books is that they are scientifically accurate. His characters deal with extremely complex challenges that require thinking and ingenuity to overcome. He writes in a way that entertains and teaches things you never knew.

I love that Andy wrote his first book from beginning to end without any publisher involved. Nobody was there to tell him what he was doing was the right thing.  He believed in himself, believed in the story he was telling, focused on the work, delivered a high-quality product, and proceeded to find his audience one reader at a time.     

All these stories reflect truths about the path ahead. Your journey will be hard. You’ll need grit, creativity, and perseverance. You’ll need others (family, friends, mentors, even strangers). More often than not, the tools to overcome life’s challenges will come from within yourself, quietly shaped by the stories you carry and the habits you form.

Whatever new thing you’re stepping into, whether it’s basic training, a new job, a cross-country move, or a new phase in your life, know that it’s okay to be unsure. It’s okay to feel stretched. Just remember your “why,” do the next right thing, and keep showing up with courage.

And who knows? Maybe decades from now you’ll be the one writing a letter like this, passing along what you’ve learned…

Photo by Justin Cron on Unsplash

Progress Beats Perfection

Too often, teams spend endless hours preparing, refining, and perfecting—only to stall before real work begins. In this post, we explore why starting matters more than perfecting, and how progress—however imperfect—moves us forward when perfection holds us back.

Ready, Aim, Aim, Aim, Aim…

It feels less risky to just keep aiming. After all, once you fire, that metaphorical bullet is gone. You can’t take it back.

But if we spend all our time aiming and never actually fire, nothing gets done.

Even worse, the constant cycle of preparation builds stress and anxiety. Teams begin to feel the weight of endless discussions—about what we’re aiming at, how we’re aiming, which methodologies to use, and why aiming itself feels so overwhelming. Meetings start to focus on the aiming process.

Meanwhile, the work sits untouched, and pressure continues to build. Time marches on. Deadlines loom ever closer.

In the pursuit of the perfect solution, we lose sight of the real goal: progress.

We obsess over the “best” approach, the most thorough analysis, the fully optimized plan. We begin documenting the aiming process as if it were the actual deliverable. And in the process, we forget the tasks we were meant to complete.

While chasing perfection, we miss the opportunity to deliver something good, something useful, valuable, and real.

“The way to get started is to quit talking and begin doing.”

Walt Disney

Call it version 1, a prototype, a pilot program, or a minimum viable product. If perfection keeps us from taking the first step, the process is no longer serving its purpose.

Progress beats perfection every time.

Photo by Norbert Braun on Unsplash – Like the baby sea turtle, we don’t need to know every step of the journey before we start. The important thing is to move in the right direction, and let the momentum carry us forward.

When Fires Become the Work

Ask someone how their day went, and odds are, they’ll say, “Busy.”

Dig a little deeper, and you’ll hear about the fires they had to put out, the urgent requests from their boss, or the upset customers they had to talk in off the ledge. Everyone’s racing from task to task, reacting to whatever pops up next.

What you don’t hear—at least not often—is someone saying, “Today I worked on our 30-day goals,” or, “I spent the afternoon exploring how AI might streamline our operations,” or, “I studied what our competitors are doing better than we are.”

Most people are caught in an infinite response loop. The big questions get pushed to tomorrow, especially if the boss isn’t asking about them anyway. And often, he’s just as busy reacting to his own list of urgent problems.

Response mode is easy. You don’t have to choose what matters most. Just deal with what’s in front of you. There’s no time for stepping back, rethinking the process, or preventing tomorrow’s fires today. You stay busy. That way, you can tell yourself you’re still needed.

And when the day ends, you can point to everything you handled and feel like you earned your paycheck.

But the real questions are:
Did you move any of your monthly, quarterly, or annual goals forward?
Do you even know what they are?

For many, the answers are no and definitely no.

Working in the business is the default. It’s safe and familiar. It keeps your hands full.

Working on the business is different. It takes time, thought, and courage. It means facing questions without clear answers. It means exploring new tools, unlearning old habits, and imagining better ways to serve your customers.

No fires today? Is your boss on vacation? Sounds like an easy day.

But if no one thinks about what’s next, if no one is asking what should change or improve, and if no one is steering the ship, that ship will eventually drift. Maybe into a storm. Maybe into the rocks.

And no one will notice until it’s too late.

So, ask yourself:
Are you steering, or just responding?

Side note: These questions apply outside of work. If we’re not actively steering in our personal lives, we can just as easily find ourselves in a storm we could have avoided, running aground on some rocks, or drifting aimlessly out to sea.

Photo by Amir Saeid Dehghan Tarzejani on Unsplash

Pressure is a Privilege

I heard this a while back and it resonated with me.  That it’s a privilege to be under pressure.

At first, this may seem counterintuitive. Pressure can feel heavy. It weighs on us, steals our sleep, tightens our chest.

The pressure to perform. Pressure to deliver results. Pressure to be the best spouse, parent, grandparent, or friend we can be.

Pressure to grow. Improve. Rise to the moment.

We feel pressure because someone is counting on us.
Our family.
Our coworkers.
Our teams.
Our communities.

That pressure? It only exists where there’s a purpose. It’s a signal that we matter to someone. That our role isn’t meaningless. That someone out there is relying on us to show up, do our best, and help them move forward.

The alternative?

No responsibilities. No pressure at all. No one looking our way.
No one expecting anything from us. No one counting on us.

No promises, no demands (we don’t get enough Love is a Battlefield references in life). 

Maybe, no purpose.

The next time you feel the world pressing in, take a deep breath and reframe the situation.

That weight on your shoulders? It’s a sign of trust. A signal of opportunity. A reminder that you have a place in someone else’s story.

In the end, pressure is a byproduct of the privilege to lead, to love, and to serve.

And what a gift that is.

h/t – Marques Brownlee (watch his video to the end)

Photo by Paul Harris on Unsplash

The Work Before the Work

Everyone loves the big idea. The bold plan. A strong vision of what can be.

It’s easy to get excited about an amazing result.  A finished project, a better version of ourselves, a breakthrough moment. But big plans mean nothing without the tools and materials to carry them out.

Goals and aspirations get a lot of attention.  Preparation, usually not so much. 

Preparation isn’t glamorous. No one sees the early mornings, the quiet practice, the reading, the repetitions, the small decisions and adjustments that come from thinking deeply about how to be better. But that’s where everything starts. That’s the real work.

You can’t build a tower by imagining the top floor. You start by stacking bricks. And before that, you must gather the bricks. Along with mortar. Along with the tools to lift, cut, measure, and shape. That’s what preparation is.  Gathering what you’ll need to be ready when it’s time to build.

This applies to everything in life.

Want to be a better leader? Prepare by learning how to listen, how to stay calm and think under pressure, how to help your team to be their very best.

Want to level up at work? Prepare by always sharpening your skills, staying curious, looking for problems that need solutions, becoming someone your team can rely on.

Want to be a better friend, spouse, or parent? Prepare by learning to listen, to be present, and to lead with patience and love.

Want to face hard times with strength? Prepare by choosing the hard things before they choose you.

Don’t wait for life to demand something from you before you get ready. Always prepare so you will be ready.

Ask yourself:
-What materials am I gathering?

-What tools am I building?

-What productive habits am I forming when no one’s looking?

Preparation isn’t just a phase. It’s a mindset. A lifestyle. 

You’re either gathering bricks—or you’re preparing to fail.

Because in the end, you won’t rise to the level of your ambition. 

You’ll fall to the level of your preparation.

h/t – my friend Pete Hilger as we were discussing how to get building supplies to a rural Guatemalan city for a medical facility build project.  He tossed out the line, “You can’t build a tower without first gathering a lot of bricks and mortar.”

Photo by Peyman Shojaei on Unsplash