Some of the fears running things in our lives were never ours to begin with. We watched someone lose and decided losing was the lesson. We watched someone speak up and get burned, so we got quiet. We watched someone try and then called their failure a warning. We told ourselves we were being realistic when we were just hiding safely behind their wreckage.
We rarely see the whole picture of someone else’s failure. We don’t see the blind spots, the ignored warnings, the weak foundation, the compromises nobody talked about, or the timing that was just off. We only see the ending, and then we build ourselves a new law out of it.
Something inside us says, See? That’s what happens.
No. That’s what happened.
One word. One syllable. The difference between a lesson and a life sentence.
Fear is a fast learner. It sees one example and it moves. It doesn’t wait for data. It doesn’t wait for context. It doesn’t wait for us to think.
Sometimes that’s exactly right. Some roads do end in ruin. Some boundaries are wisdom. There are dangers in life that should be taken seriously the first time, not the fifth.
But fear can collapse categories too quickly. It can treat a predator and a conversation as though they deserve the same response.
One difficult conversation becomes I’ll never bring that up again. One rejection becomes I’m done. One betrayal becomes Trust no one.
Fear stops being a warning. It becomes a tyrant. And tyrants imprison more than they protect.
Sometimes it isn’t safety we’re protecting. It’s our pride. Our delicate image. The deep terror of being seen trying and coming up short. That type of fear can sound like logic. It can sound like experience. And it can rob us quietly for years.
I’ve seen people let one example define them. One disappointment. One humiliation. One loss. One story, often somebody else’s story, lodged deep in their imagination.
But one example is a terrible god. It asks for too much. It explains too little. And it leaves too many good things untried.
Fear only needs one example.
Our wisdom must decide how much authority we give it.
Not the person gripping the handles. Not the people leaning over the table. Not the ones watching from the side, reacting to every near miss and lucky bounce.
I mean the little player on the rod.
The one fixed in place. The one locked into one line. The one who can slide back and forth, but only so far. The one who can affect the game, but only if the ball comes close enough to matter.
They don’t choose the strategy. They don’t choose the timing. They don’t choose the pace.
Most of the time, they wait.
Then the ball comes their way, and suddenly everything matters. Angle. Timing. Readiness. Contact.
That sounds a little like work to me.
A lot of people spend their days in roles that aren’t all that different. They work inside boundaries they didn’t create. They carry responsibility inside systems they don’t control. They try to do their part well, even when they can’t see the whole field or understand everything that sent the work their way.
They may not know the whole game, or how the score is being kept. They may not even know what happened two lines back that sent the ball in their direction.
Still, when it reaches them, their moment is real.
There’s something important in that.
We don’t need to control the whole table to be responsible for our part of the play. We don’t have that kind of control in most of life. We’re asked something simpler and harder. Be ready. Pay attention. Do the best you can with what reaches you.
That alone is worth contemplating.
But what if we add artificial intelligence to the picture?
Imagine that same foosball player being given access to a system that sees patterns faster. A system that recognizes angles sooner. A system that can suggest where the ball is likely to go before the player fully sees it unfold.
At first, that sounds like help. And often it is.
The player reacts faster. The contact gets cleaner. The scoring chances improve.
AI helps people create faster, sort faster, summarize faster, and respond faster. It removes friction. It can make a capable person more effective inside the lane they’ve always occupied.
That is the promising side of it.
But there is also an uncomfortable part.
Once the system starts seeing faster and suggesting more accurately, someone above the table is eventually going to wonder why they still need the player. That question doesn’t always get asked out loud. But it’s there. You can feel it. Pretending otherwise doesn’t make it go away.
That unease is legitimate.
The question is what to do with it.
Here’s where I think the real work begins.
What separates a great foosball player from an automated one isn’t reaction time. Machines will win that contest.
The deeper difference is harder to name. Knowing when not to take the obvious shot. Recognizing that the ball coming from a certain direction is a trap, not an opportunity. Sensing that something is off and adjusting before the moment fully reveals why. Coordinating with the players on the other rods in ways that don’t require a word.
That’s judgment. That’s situational awareness. That’s the kind of thing that lives in the player, not the system.
AI can help with speed. It can help with prediction. It can surface options. But it doesn’t carry responsibility the way a person does. It doesn’t feel the weight of consequences. It doesn’t care about the human being on the other end of the decision. It doesn’t wrestle with what should be done. Only what can be done.
That still belongs to us.
I want to be honest about the limits of that claim. The argument that human judgment is safe from automation isn’t permanently settled. AI is advancing in that direction too. Anyone who draws that line with complete confidence is overconfident.
But if I define my value only by output and routine execution, I’ll always be vulnerable to something faster.
If my value includes judgment, trust, discernment, adaptability, and the ability to connect my small part of the field to a larger purpose, then the picture changes. AI becomes a tool I use, not a definition of who I am, or an immediate replacement for the work I do.
For some people, this reframing will feel like genuine good news. Their roles have always required judgment, and AI can finally free them from the parts that didn’t.
For others, the harder truth is that their role may need to change. Some work is primarily mechanical. Some lanes will be redesigned or eliminated in this process.
The courage in that moment isn’t pretending the role is something it isn’t. It’s being willing to grow. To move toward the parts of the field where human judgment still has the most to offer.
That is a hard ask. Unfortunately, for many people, it’s becoming a necessary one.
I also want to be honest about who fits this reframing the most. If you have domain knowledge, a network, and some runway, the opportunities ahead are genuine. If you are mid-career in a role that has been primarily mechanical, the path from insight to action looks different. That doesn’t make the direction wrong. It means the journey looks different depending on where you’re starting from.
But here’s something else worth considering, especially if uncertainty feels more like a threat than an opportunity.
The same tools raising these questions are also lowering barriers in ways we have never really seen before. Starting something new used to require capital, staff, infrastructure, and years of groundwork before the first real result.
That is still true for some things. But for many others, the gap between I have an idea and I have something real has collapsed in ways that are genuinely new.
The foosball player who spent years developing judgment, domain knowledge, and an instinct for the game now has access to tools that can help them build something of their own…not just execute better inside someone else’s system.
That’s a different kind of power than speed or efficiency.
It’s agency, if we choose to use it.
And it doesn’t have to be a solo venture. Some of the most interesting things happening right now involve small groups of people — two, three, maybe five — who share domain knowledge, complementary judgment, and a problem worth solving. With the help of these AI tools, they can pool their capabilities in ways that would have required a full company to attempt a decade ago.
Not everyone will go this route. Not everyone should.
But the option is more available than it has ever been. And for the person who has been quietly wondering whether there’s a different game they should be playing, this moment may be less of a threat and more of an opening.
The foosball player is still fixed to the rod. Still limited. Still dependent on timing. Still part of a game they don’t fully control.
That hasn’t changed.
What may need to change is the story the player tells about themselves. A bigger, truer one. One with more possibilities.
Use the AI tools. Learn how to maximize your position with them.
But don’t let AI reduce you.
You were never only the motion. You were never only the output. You were never only the kick.
You were the one responsible for what to do when the ball came your way, and that’s still true.
And now, for the first time, you may have more say than ever in choosing your table.
Photo by Stefan Steinbauer on Unsplash – I’ve only played foosball a few times. I’m terrible at it and haven’t played it enough to feel like the game is anything more than randomness and chaos. Funny thing is that lots of workers have a similar perspective on the job they’re doing for their employer.
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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…
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.
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.
Grandpa Bob Encouraging Leadership 
You must be logged in to post a comment.