books – Grandpa Bob Encouraging Leadership

Teachers, Mentors, and the Grace That Carries Us

“There is no Frigate like a Book / To take us Lands away.”

Emily Dickinson wrote these words in her quiet room, understanding something I didn’t grasp for decades. The greatest journeys begin within.

I know her poem only because of my 11th grade AP English teacher, Mr. Cox. As a rambunctious and cocky 11th grader, would I have taken any of my “super valuable” time to read poems, sonnets, short stories, even books? No way.

But because of his work (and the work of countless other teachers along the way), I did read. A lot. I learned tons of material and information that didn’t matter to me at the time…but matter a lot today.

My focus back then was simple. Be the best student, get the highest test scores, pass as many AP tests as possible, and earn varsity letters in multiple sports. Mostly, I wanted to beat everyone else, pure and simple. It helped that I was blessed with an almost photographic memory and could recall facts and formulas with ease (sadly, not so much nowadays).

I carried that mindset into college. I loved being the student who defined the grading curve for the class. I was annoyed if I didn’t get every single point on an assignment, midterm, or final. I had an almost uncontrollable drive to outshine everyone…as if that was all that mattered.

I was completely wrong.

On the bright side, that drive and motivation made me a successful student and propelled me into my early career.

On the other hand, seeing everyone as my competition, and less as people, meant I probably missed out on a lot of fun. And lots of friendships that never happened. I was so focused on the destination that I forgot to notice who was traveling with me.

That realization connects me back to Dickinson’s frigate in ways I never expected. She saw the book as a vessel capable of carrying anyone, anywhere, without cost or permission. But what I’ve learned over nearly fifty years since high school is that I was asking the wrong question. It was never “How far can I go?” It was “Who am I becoming, and who’s helping me understand?”

My journey from that hyper-competitive teenager to what I hope is a much more caring, thoughtful, empathetic, nuanced, and life-giving person has been propelled by those same teachers I mentioned earlier, and a longer line of guides who keep showing up at the right time in my life.

I didn’t realize it then, but those books, poems, and teachers were all part of my fleet of frigates. Each one quietly helped me close the distance between knowledge and understanding, between my ambition and wisdom.

My mentors, family, and friends have all been vessels that carried me through changing seas. Some taught me to sail straight into the wind. Others reminded me that drifting for a while can be part of my journey as well. Each lesson mattered, even the ones that didn’t make sense at the time…especially those.

Over time, life has a way of sanding down our sharper edges, revealing something deeper underneath. My focus slowly shifted from being the best at something to becoming the best version of myself.

Now, when I think about Emily Dickinson’s frigate, I picture something far greater than a book. I picture a lifetime of learning, carried by the people who invested their time, wisdom, and patience in me. Mr. Cox, and others who gave freely of their time and wisdom, helped me see that the destination isn’t solely becoming the top of the class. It’s finding a profound depth of understanding, the expansion of empathy, and the ability to see beauty and meaning in small, unexpected places.

If I could go back and talk to that 16-year-old version of myself, I’d tell him the real tests aren’t scored on paper. They’re graded every day in how we treat people, how we listen, and how we show grace.

I’d tell him that the frigate he thinks he’s steering alone has always been guided by grace. The true measure of his voyage will be how much space he makes for others to come aboard.

We’re all learning to sail, carried by the steady hand of God.

We never really travel alone.

Photo by Rafael Garcin on Unsplash

When an Idea Stops Being Yours Alone

There’s a quiet moment in meaningful work when your idea begins to live in someone else. You see it in the way they talk about it. You hear it in their enthusiasm. You notice how they add their experience and their language to it until the idea carries their imprint as much as yours.

It can feel strange the first time it happens. You know the origin, but they suddenly feel the spark of the idea for themselves. That’s the moment you know your idea has begun to grow.

Real success often arrives like this, but we don’t always notice it. People begin to adopt your idea, reshape it, and eventually believe in it with a conviction that can be surprising. They explain it to others in their own voice. They defend it. They improve it. If the idea spreads far enough, some will forget where it began. Your name may fade from the origin story. That loss of attribution can sting if you hold the idea too tightly. It should feel like success instead.

Leaders have a responsibility here. Ideas rarely spread through logic alone. They spread through emotional ownership that grows when people discover a piece of themselves in the idea. When that happens, they carry the idea farther than you ever could by insisting on authorship.

A leader’s task is to create the conditions for this transfer. You offer the early shape of the idea, then invite others to step inside and help build the next version. You ask for their insight, their experience, and their concerns. You let their fingerprints gather on the surface until the idea becomes a shared creation. People support what they help to shape.

As others begin to adopt your idea, they’ll need to feel safety in their new enthusiasm. They need to know they’re not the only ones who believe in this direction. A wise leader pays attention to this. They take the people who have embraced their idea and introduce them to others who have done the same. They form new connections, helping to create a small community where confidence strengthens and courage grows. When people see others adopting the same idea, they feel validated, understood, and ready to act.

This is how ideas gain momentum inside organizations. One person sees the promise. Another begins to shape it. A third begins to feel inspired. Before long, it becomes a shared narrative. It starts with your imagination, but it continues through their belief and conviction.

Once people begin to adopt your idea, you must release it. You may or may not receive credit for it. Either outcome is acceptable.

The goal was never to build a monument to your creativity. The goal was to move the organization forward. When others bring your idea into new conversations without you, your contribution has done its job.

Your attention can return to the horizon. There’s always another idea waiting for you, another possibility that needs your curiosity, another problem that needs new framing.

Good leaders plant seeds. Great leaders celebrate when those seeds take root across the organization.

Inspired by Dr. Michael Levin’s post, h/t – Tim Ferriss

Photo by Alex Beauchamp on Unsplash – a new idea taking root and growing beyond its beginning.

Mesmerism and the Rhythm of Showing Up

“When I’m in writing mode for a novel, I get up at four a.m. and work for five to six hours. In the afternoon, I run for ten kilometers or swim for fifteen hundred meters (or do both), then I read a bit and listen to some music. I go to bed at nine p.m. I keep to this routine every day without variation. The repetition itself becomes the important thing; it’s a form of mesmerism. I mesmerize myself to reach a deeper state of mind.” — Haruki Murakami

Haruki Murakami has written some of the most widely read novels and screenplays — Norwegian Wood, Kafka on the Shore, 1Q84, and others. His stories are wide and varied. But his process? Based on this quote, it’s as simple as it gets (on first glance).

He wakes early. He works. He exercises. He reads. He rests. Then he does it all again. Every day. Without variation.

What makes that interesting isn’t just the discipline. It’s what that discipline creates. He calls it mesmerism.

He’s not trying to force creativity. He’s building a space, mentally and physically, where creativity knows it’s welcome. And he shows up to that space every day, without fail.

This kind of repetition, over time, can shift your state of mind. It can take you to a quieter, more focused place. It can help you bypass distraction and access something deeper.

He doesn’t wait for inspiration to strike. He prepares for it. He builds a rhythm and shows up to it daily. Over time, his mind knows—it’s time to create. And that, he says, is when the real writing happens.

It’s easy to think of habits as something utilitarian. A way to squeeze productivity out of our day. But what if repetition isn’t just a tool for efficiency? What if it’s a path into something more meaningful?

What if the act of doing the same thing, at the same time, in the same way, becomes a form of permission to go deeper?

Murakami’s routine isn’t about optimization. It’s about entry. It’s a way of reaching the part of himself that doesn’t respond well to noise, pressure, or force. And the only way in is repetition.

This idea of mesmerism applies to more than writing novels or screenplays.

Maybe your “deep work” is building a business, raising a family, managing a new venture, or simply trying to stay anchored when life is anything but steady.

The specific rhythm doesn’t matter. What matters is that it’s yours. That it becomes familiar enough, trusted enough, to lower your resistance and invite your mind to settle.

A short walk each morning before the day begins.

A time and place for reading, thinking, or praying without interruption.

A quiet moment after dinner, before sleep.

These aren’t productivity hacks. They’re entry points. Invitations to go below the surface of reaction and noise. To meet yourself in a more focused, honest way.

Reflecting on this quote, I see it as less about writing and more about living on purpose.

There’s no perfect rhythm. No universal method. But there is something powerful in choosing to show up each day, in the same way, with the same posture of readiness…even if it feels small.

Because over time, that rhythm changes us. It makes us less reliant on inspiration and more connected to our purpose.

Less reactive, more rooted. Less scattered, steadier.

Show up.
Repeat.
Let the repetition carry you deeper.

That’s where the real work—and the real exploration—can begin.

h/t – once again, Tim Ferris’s 5 Bullet Friday newsletter. He recently highlighted this Murakami quote. When I first read it, it didn’t make much of an impression. Who uses mesmerism in a sentence? Then I decided to re-read it, even though it’s a long one.

On my second reading, the quote sunk in and got me thinking about how his process of mesmerizing through repetition can be applied to anything we’re trying to accomplish (it even showed me how to use the word mesmerizing in a sentence). It takes us past brute discipline and into a rhythm-based approach that prepares our mind to do the work we want it to do; in the space that repetition provides.

Photo by Jack Sharp on Unsplash

Permission to Conclude – and Get Started

A friend called recently. He’s been running his own business successfully for over a decade. Things are going well, really well. That’s why he reached out.

He wanted to talk through some ideas. Usually when I get these calls, it’s because a business owner is thinking about making a major change. Maybe selling, maybe acquiring another business, maybe just trying to get unstuck from a rut. But this wasn’t that kind of conversation.

He explained that his team is doing great work. His own role had evolved into mostly business development and handling occasional fire drills. Lately, there haven’t been many fires. The business is running so smoothly that, for the first time in years, he has time on his hands. Unexpected free time.

That’s usually a good thing, right?

He thought so too at first. He ramped up his business development efforts (always wise to add growth fuel to a business), and then he did something else. He stepped back and watched. Observed. Assessed.

For the first time in a while, he was able to look at the processes and tools his company uses with a fresh set of eyes. The eyes of an outsider.

That’s when he saw the gaps.

Not because things were falling apart. But because, with a little perspective, he realized how much better things could be. He saw inefficiencies, opportunities for automation, outdated systems, and new tools that could transform how they operate.

His brain lit up. Ideas started flowing. He made lists. And more lists. He started thinking through what needed to change, planning what to build, what to retire, and how to bring the team into the improvement process.

That’s when he called me. Not for help solving the problems, but because he suddenly had too many ideas and plans.

He’d become overwhelmed by the possibilities.

So, I asked him: What would it take to give yourself permission to conclude the brainstorming, the planning…and begin?

He paused.

As the boss, no one else was going to tell him to stop generating ideas and to start work on executing them. There’s no urgent deadline forcing a decision. No one asking for a status update. The machine is humming along, profitably. But he can see how much more potential is just sitting there waiting to be tapped.

We didn’t talk about his ideas or operations at all. We talked about how to decide. How to identify the vital few initiatives that would make the biggest difference. How to involve his team. How to get moving.

We talked about starting, and how starting builds momentum.

Our brains love ideation. There are no limits, no constraints. It’s energizing to imagine improvements, design new systems, and sketch out possibilities. We feel smart. We feel alive.

But our minds? They get restless. We lie awake at night, spinning. We second-guess ourselves. We get caught in the loop of “what if” and “maybe later.”

That’s where permission to conclude enters the picture.

It’s the quiet decision that says: “I’ve thought enough. I’ve explored enough. I may not have a perfect plan, but I have enough to begin.”

It’s the green light we must give ourselves. To start, to build, to test, to course-correct.

It’s a commitment. Not to perfection, but to movement.

To gain clarity through execution. To action that reveals what thinking alone cannot.

If you find yourself spinning with ideas, take a deep breath.

Give yourself permission to conclude.

And start.

Photo by Isaac Mugwe on Unsplash – the rider has no idea what lies ahead…only guesses, maybe some visualization of what could be lurking around that dark corner. The only way to find out is to start and figure it out along the way.

h/t – I learned about the concept of the “vital few” over 20 years ago from MAP Consulting. A simple yet powerful realization that we can only work on a few things at any one time. Choose the vital few, work on them, then move to the next set of vital few items after that.