Tag: Growth

Leadership That Lasts Beyond the Finish Line

In high school, I had the good fortune of running cross country under a man named Mr. Smuts. Our coach and my 11th grade AP U.S. History teacher. He was the kind of leader who quietly influenced growth in those around him. 

He didn’t bark commands or demand the spotlight. On race day, while other coaches were shouting themselves hoarse, Mr. Smuts would position himself at the mile markers. Calm, steady, present. As we passed, he’d simply call out our split times. No cheering. No panic. Just numbers.

We didn’t need anything else.

He had trained us so well that those times were all the feedback we needed. We knew what they meant. We knew what he expected. And we knew he believed in each of us (even the slow guys, like me).

When we crossed the finish line, sometimes ahead of the competition, sometimes not, he’d quietly remind us that the real opponent wasn’t the other team. It was the clock. It was ourselves.

That quiet challenge made us better. Not just as runners, but as young men.

Mr. Smuts embodied a rare approach to leadership. Seeing others more than being seen. His confidence in us was contagious. His calm became our calm. His consistency helped us believe that showing up and giving our best effort, day after day, was enough to grow into something exceptional.

For a bunch of teenagers full of energy and bravado, his presence could have been drowned out by flash and high school nonsense. But instead, we listened closely. We trusted deeply. And we ran harder.

His leadership style reminds me of a line from the Tao Te Ching:

“When the best leader’s work is done, the people say, ‘We did it ourselves.’”

That’s exactly how it felt. We crossed those finish lines thinking we had pulled it off on our own. Only because he had quietly laid the foundation beneath our feet.

True leaders create space for others to rise.

The Tao Te Ching calls it wu wei, effortless action. Like a river flowing around rocks instead of smashing into them. Doing the right thing at the right time and then stepping back to let the results take root.

Ronald Reagan once said, “There is no limit to what a man can do or where he can go if he doesn’t mind who gets the credit.”

This could have been written about Mr. Smuts.

He led in a way that called attention to others rather than himself. His approach shaped how we performed, how we grew, and how we learned to lead ourselves. His impact showed itself in the confidence he helped us build and the standard of excellence we still carry with us today.

The next time you find yourself in a leadership role at work, in your family, or on any team, ask yourself:

-Am I trying to be the hero, or trying to build others up?

-How can I lead with quiet influence?

-Can I let go of credit and trust the process I’ve helped shape?

The best leaders don’t stand in front of their people. They stand with them, sometimes just off to the side, calmly calling out split times as the race unfolds.

And when it’s over, they nod to themselves, knowing they’ve done their job.

The rest of the story: Mr. Smuts earned his doctorate in Leadership and became Dr. Smuts not long after my time at Cerritos High School (Class of 1984).  He went on to become the school’s principal and ultimately the school district’s Superintendent of Schools for many years, before retiring in 2012. He continues to enjoy his retirement years.

Dr. Smuts is a leader who inspired (literally) thousands of kids (and adults). 

This video provides a brief glimpse of this truly inspiring and gentle man in 2012 as he prepared to retire. It also highlights my high school campus that looks very much like it did four decades ago.  

Time Does Not Heal All Wounds

“Time heals all wounds,” people say when someone we love dies. It’s a phrase offered like a Band-Aid for a broken bone. Well meaning, but inadequate for the depth of what we’re facing.

For those who have lost a daughter, a son, a spouse, a parent, a sibling, a dear friend, the truth is something different. Time doesn’t heal. It changes things, yes. It allows us to move, to function, to smile even, but it does not erase their absence. That lives inside us, a permanent resident.

When I searched for quotes and stories from others who had walked this path before me (writers, psychologists, fellow travelers through loss), I discovered that my feelings aren’t unique or abnormal.

The bereaved across time echo the same truths I’m living.

I’ve heard that grief follows a pattern of denial, anger, bargaining, withdrawal, and finally, acceptance. That may all be true. It sounds like a clean process. Just a series of steps we must go through to get to the other side.

But that path has no clean endpoint. It can stall, restart at the beginning, skip and repeat steps while never reaching a conclusion. The grieving process never ends. We merely learn to function with our grief, and we do so in our own way, as imperfectly as we do everything else in life.

Author Jamie Anderson found words for what many of us feel but struggle to express: “Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.”

This captures exactly what happens when we reach for the phone to call them or save up a story we can’t wait to tell them. Only to remember a second later that they’re gone.

Grief isn’t a single event but a series of small realizations, each one a fresh cut.

C.S. Lewis, after losing his wife Joy, wrote about the persistence of absence: “Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything.” In his book “A Grief Observed,” Lewis documented what it feels like to live inside loss. “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing. At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed.”

This is the lived experience of a body trying to process what the mind struggles to accept.

Joan Didion echoed this truth when she lost her husband, John Gregory Dunne. In “The Year of Magical Thinking,” she wrote, “Grief turns out to be a place none of us know until we reach it. It’s a foreign country with its own customs, its own weather, its own bewildering geography.”

There is no timeline. No tidy arc where pain transforms into peace according to some predetermined set of rules.

Dr. Lois Tonkin, working as a grief counselor in the 1990s, discovered a different truth about what healing actually looks like. A client whose child had died years earlier drew her a picture showing how her grief had initially filled her entire life. A small circle almost completely consumed by loss.

But over time, something unexpected happened. The grief didn’t shrink. Instead, her life grew larger around it. There was now space for new experiences, relationships, and meaning alongside the loss. This became known as Tonkin’s Model of Grief.

Like a tree growing around a piece of metal embedded in its trunk. We don’t absorb or eliminate the foreign object. We grow around it, incorporating it into our new shape.

This model shows us that time doesn’t diminish our grief. But it expands our capacity to hold other things along with it. Some days our grief surprises us with its suddenness. A song, a scent, a birthday or anniversary, seeing a classic car they used to drive. Other days we’re living fully in the expanded space around our grief, discovering we can hold both the wound and the wonder.

We must learn to carry the sharp pain of their absence while having gratitude for the gift of having known them at all. Our capacity to feel gratitude for the life we shared can provide much needed comfort, even though we’ll never stop missing them.

Some of the most tender truths come from those who’ve lost children. Elizabeth Edwards, who lost her 16-year-old son Wade in a car accident, offered this reminder, “If you know someone who has lost a child, and you’re afraid to mention them because you think you might make them sad by reminding them that they died, you’re not reminding them. They didn’t forget they died. What you’re reminding them of is that you remembered that they lived, and that is a great gift.”

Writer Megan O’Rourke, in her memoir “The Long Goodbye” about losing her mother, captured the peculiar contrasts of grief. “You look fine. You act fine. But inside, you are not fine. And you know it will never be the same.”

This is the hard reality of grief. The simultaneous existence of functioning and not-functioning, of healing and not-healing, of being okay and not-okay. We learn to carry both states, often within the same moments.

So no, time does not heal all wounds.

Time teaches us that we can be broken and whole simultaneously. That we can miss someone terribly and still find reasons to laugh. That love doesn’t end with death. It merely changes form, expressed as the very grief we wish we could escape.

In learning to live with our wounds, we hopefully discover something about ourselves. Our capacity to grieve deeply is evidence of our capacity to love more deeply than we ever thought possible.

And maybe that’s the real truth about time and grief.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” – Mathew 5:4

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” – Psalm 34:18

“Love never ends.” – 1 Corinthians 13:8

Photo by Noah Silliman on Unsplash

I’m Not That — What You’re Not Might Be Holding You Back

Sometimes the hardest limits aren’t what we believe we are…but what we’ve decided we’re not.

Leader: I’m hitting a wall. No matter how hard I try, something’s stuck.
Coach: Where?
Leader: Connecting with my direct reports. The one-on-one meetings. All the details. I’m just not wired for any of it.
Coach: You sure?
Leader: I’ve never been good at connection. I’m not super technical. I’m not touchy-feely. I’m not a detail person.
Coach: Sounds like you’ve got your “not” list down cold.
Leader: Isn’t that just self-awareness?
Coach: Could be. Or maybe you’re protecting yourself with that list.
Leader: I’m not trying to be someone I’m not.
Coach: Are you avoiding someone you could become? What if the growth you’ve been chasing is on the other side of “I’m not”?
Leader: What if I do all that work and don’t like what I find?
Coach: Then you’ll learn something real. But what if you find a strength you didn’t know you had?
Leader: That feels like a stretch.
Coach: Growth usually does.

“Ego is as much what you don’t think you are as what you think you are.”
– Joe Hudson

We usually spot ego in people who overestimate themselves. Their arrogance and swagger enter the room before they do.

But ego has a quieter side. It hides in the limits we quietly accept. Not in who we think we are, but in who we’ve decided we’re not.

“I’m not technical.”
“I’m not good at details.”
“I hate public speaking.”

These negations, the things we distance ourselves from, might feel like declarations of strength and clarity.

But often they are boundaries we’ve unconsciously placed around our identity. Once we’ve drawn these lines, we stop growing beyond them. They protect us from challenges, discomfort, and the hard work we know will be required.

Leaders who define themselves by what they aren’t often:

-Avoid feedback that challenges their identity.

-Miss chances to adapt or grow.

-Choose the path of least resistance.

-Struggle to connect with different types of people.

-Dismiss skills they haven’t developed (yet).

If you’re feeling stuck, ask yourself:

-What am I avoiding by saying, “I’m not that”?

-What am I protecting by holding on to that story?

-What might open up if I let it go?

Sometimes the next chapter of growth begins not with a new strength, but with a willingness to loosen our grip on the stories we tell ourselves.

If you want to grow as a leader—or help others grow—it’s not enough to ask, “Who am I?”

You also have to ask, “What am I willing to become?”

Photo by Amir Mortezaie on Unsplash

The Next Generation—Are They Ready?

I received an email from Noah Kagan this week. Not because we’re personal friends, but because I subscribe to his newsletter. Noah, the CEO of AppSumo, often shares practical insights and thought-provoking questions from his journey in the tech world.

This particular message stood out. He talked about being fearful for his 10-month-old daughter’s future. With all the chaos in the world, the deepening divides, the rise of AI and robotics, the general noise of modern life, he wonders what kind of world she’ll inherit.

But instead of spiraling into worry, Noah laid out how he’s choosing to respond: by creating clarity, limiting distractions, and doubling down on the things that matter most. He’s building a foundation, not just for his own peace of mind, but for his daughter to inherit.

His email reminded me of a quote often attributed to Mark Twain: “The future is in the hands of a generation that isn’t ready for it.”

We didn’t have AI, social media, or the internet back in Mr. Twain’s day. But even then, concerns about “the next generation” were nothing new. Parents, teachers, and elders across every era in history have wondered if the next generation is truly ready.

Noah’s concern isn’t just that the next generation might be unprepared. It’s that the world itself might be too broken to navigate well. But history offers some perspective.

Every generation has faced challenges.  Wars, famines, political collapse, pandemics, technological upheaval, moral drift. And yet, the world moves forward. Somehow, each generation rises to meet its moment…even if their preparation feels lacking.

We don’t get to control the future, but we do influence it by how we live, what we model, and what we choose to pass on. We can’t predict what our children and grandchildren will face, or how they’ll respond. But we can teach them how to think, how to hold on to timeless values, and how to walk through hardship with strength and grace.

It’s natural to worry.

Let’s not forget that hardship doesn’t cancel out beauty.

Struggles don’t erase joy.

There will be triumphs ahead, too. If we’ve taught them well, they’ll learn to spot their small victories, celebrate them, and then pass along what matters to those who come after.

The future always arrives in the hands of the young—and the young are never quite ready. But then again, neither were we.

Photo by Timon Studler on Unsplash

What Your 70-Year-Old Self Knows That You Don’t

We know about Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs and how our wants and desires are like a pyramid that goes from our basic needs up to our desire for self-actualization. The Pareto Principle reminds us that 80% of our results come from 20% of our efforts, helping us focus on what truly moves the needle. Saint Ignatius’s Spiritual Exercises guide us through discernment, teaching us to distinguish between what brings life and what drains it.

But there’s another framework worth considering: the evolution of what we consider important throughout our lives.

As kids, we know what’s most important. It usually revolves around attention, followed by winning at whatever we are doing, which we think will get us more of that attention we crave. Everything feels urgent. Every disappointment feels permanent. The world revolves around us, and that’s exactly as it should be for a child learning to navigate life.

Teenagers start to focus on freedom, independence, and figuring out what they’re going to do when they grow up (whatever that means). They often reject what their parents value. Sometimes for good reasons, sometimes solely because rebellion feels necessary for finding their own path. What matters most is breaking free from the constraints that feel suffocating, even when those constraints were designed to protect them.

As young adults, we’re getting started, establishing our independent life, our financial foundations, our career foundations…at least we’re trying to get these things established. We’re in acquisition mode: getting the job, the apartment (maybe a house), the relationship, the respect (something we crave more than attention at this stage). We often dismiss advice from older generations, convinced they don’t understand how different the world is now.

Then something interesting happens.

As the decades flow by, what was important a few years ago, isn’t. We start to think about how to serve others, help our kids flourish, help their kids flourish. The shift is gradual but profound. From getting to giving, from proving ourselves to improving the lives of others.

Major life events accelerate this evolution. A health scare makes us realize that all the success in the world doesn’t matter if we’re not here to enjoy the fruits of our labor. The birth of a child or grandchild suddenly makes legacy more important than achievement. The loss of a parent reminds us that time is finite, and relationships are irreplaceable.

Sometimes the shift happens more quietly. Earlier this week, two co-workers were discussing the NBA finals and asked me what I thought of Game 2.  I had to admit that I haven’t followed basketball since the Magic Johnson era of the Lakers. As we talked, it became clear to me that I haven’t followed any sports—except for the Savannah Bananas baseball team’s shenanigans—in many years.

What captures my attention now? I’m drawn to watching people live their best lives in rural settings, building homesteads for themselves and their families. I find myself rooting for others to succeed in their chosen vocations, nothing more, nothing less. It’s not that sports became unimportant because they were bad. They just became less important than something else that feeds my soul more deeply.

As we get older, preserving our health, and the freedom that comes with it, moves toward the top of our priority list. Interesting how the freedom we sought as teenagers is still important to us in our senior years, but for different reasons. Then, we wanted freedom and thought we were ready for responsibility.

Now, we want freedom to focus on what truly matters. Freedom to be present for the people we love, freedom to contribute in meaningful ways, freedom from the noise that once seemed so important.

There’s a beautiful irony in how we often spend the first half of our lives accumulating things, achievements, and accolades, only to spend the second half learning to let go of what doesn’t serve us. We chase complexity when we’re young and value simplicity as we mature.

Questions worth considering:

– What would happen if we could skip ahead and see what our 70-year-old self considers important? What about our 80-year-old self? Would we make different choices today knowing what they know?

– Why do we have to learn the hard way that some of the things we chase don’t matter? Is there wisdom in the struggle, or are we just stubborn?

– How can we be more intentional about evolving our priorities on our terms instead of waiting for time to do it?

– What if we could honor the lessons each life stage provides without completely losing face and dismissing what came before?

The evolution of importance isn’t about getting it right or wrong at any particular stage. It’s recognizing that growth means what we value will shift.

That’s not a bug in the system. It’s a feature. The teenager’s desire for freedom isn’t foolish. It’s necessary for their development. The young adult’s focus on building a foundation isn’t shallow. It’s essential for future stability.

Perhaps the real wisdom comes in staying curious about what matters most. Knowing that the answer will keep evolving. And maybe, just maybe, we can learn to trust that each stage of life has something valuable to teach us about what’s truly important.

The key is staying awake to the lessons, even when they challenge what we thought we knew for certain.

Photo by Filip Kominik on Unsplash

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

Let the Ponies Run

Imagine owning a well-trained thoroughbred racehorse. Born and bred for speed, this horse thrives on competition and lives to run fast.

Every day, six days a week, this horse trains relentlessly. It has one purpose and one passion: running and winning races. Nothing else matters.

But on race day, you grow cautious. You worry, despite all the training, despite the horse’s proven skill, that it might not pace itself properly. So, you ask the jockey to override its instinct to run fast. You instruct the jockey to hold back the reins from the start.

As the race unfolds, your horse struggles against this restraint. Instead of feeling exhilarated, it grows frustrated. Its natural drive diminishes with each stride as the jockey pulls back, second-guessing the horse’s desire to run.

Finally, as the last turn approaches, the jockey releases the reins and shouts encouragement. It’s time to unleash all that pent-up speed.

But the horse no longer cares. He’s not even paying attention. He lost his competitive edge about a half mile ago as the jockey kept holding him back. Sure, the horse goes through the motions, picking up just enough speed to appear engaged, to show respect for the jockey’s urging. But the spark is gone.

This is a very fast horse, so even his partial effort makes for a close finish. But unfortunately, the horse doesn’t win the race. One he could have easily won if he hadn’t been held back from the start.

If you’re a manager, how often do you treat your employees like this horse? How often do you hold them back from doing the very thing you hired them to do? Do you second-guess their instincts, micromanage their decisions, and restrain their natural abilities out of fear, caution, or to protect your ego?

Consider how demoralizing it is for your team when you take away their autonomy. The freedom to run their own race. When employees lose the ability to make meaningful decisions, their enthusiasm, creativity, and ownership suffer. These are the very qualities that fuel success, and when suppressed, diminish the team’s potential and their performance.

Take a look around your organization. Are your people fully engaged, and running with purpose? Or have you inadvertently drained their passion and energy by holding them back?

There’s something else that’s easy to overlook. When you don’t allow your people to take on challenges, make decisions, and occasionally stumble, you’re not just holding them back today. You’re limiting who they can become tomorrow. Without the opportunity to stretch, fail, and grow, your employees can’t develop the judgment and endurance that leadership demands.

Playing it safe and keeping them on a tight rein risks weakening your bench strength and jeopardizing your organization’s ability to thrive in the future. We’re not just running one race; we’re running a never-ending series of tough races that stretch out long into the future.

Imagine how powerful your organization could be if you simply let your thoroughbreds—all the talent and skills you’ve carefully assembled—run their races the way they know best. Imagine letting them succeed and fail with your support, as part of your team, and not just your assistant waiting for you to make all the decisions.

It’s time to loosen the reins and let the ponies run. Because if you don’t, they might find somewhere else where they can.

Photo by Jeff Griffith on Unsplash

Creating Like Children

When you watch a five-year-old, a ten-year-old, even a twelve-year-old create, you see what unfettered creative freedom really looks like. Whether it’s a drawing, a Lego tower, or a clay sculpture, they throw themselves into the process with joyous abandon. In their mind, they can see clearly what they’re making. They know why they’re making it. And there’s almost always a story behind it.

They aren’t self-conscious. They aren’t trying to impress anyone. Sure, they like to show their creations to parents, grandparents, and teachers.  But their motivation isn’t just about approval. It’s about expression.

Most children are free from the baggage of expectation. They don’t wonder if what they’re making is good enough. And when they finish, they move right on to the next thing. Their self-worth isn’t tied to the outcome. The value of the work comes from their own perspective, not from what others think.

But around age thirteen (sometimes earlier) things change.

After years of chasing approval, learning the “right” way to do things, being graded and corrected by well-meaning adults, something fundamental happens. Their freedom to create without judgment slowly gets buried. Doubt takes root. Worry about what others might think starts to shape their process. Fear of looking foolish holds them back.

And as the years pass, it only gets worse.

Tell someone you’re going to take up oil painting, stained glass, sculpture, or any new creative pursuit as an adult, and they’ll likely have two reactions: a polite smile of encouragement, and quiet skepticism that anything worthwhile will ever come of it.

Starting something creative as an adult feels strange. It’s outside the bounds of what “normal” people do. It’s far easier to stay in line, avoid looking foolish, and sidestep the discomfort of being a beginner again.

But we are all beginners at birth. Even the rare prodigies had to take their first step (the one that happens long before we see the gifted 5-year-old who can play a piano concerto). For the rest of us, every new skill—whether it’s creative, practical, or professional—requires courage, repetition, failure, and patience.

I’ve learned that when I let go of expectations (not easy) and stop worrying about looking foolish (also not easy), the magic happens. With this new frame of reference, trying something new, something creative, or something unfamiliar, brings a new energy having nothing to do with the outcomes.

It doesn’t seek approval or chase productivity. It simply opens the door to wonder—something we often unlearn as we grow older.

I’m lucky. I get to spend time with my grandchildren, who remind me what fearless creativity looks like. They show me that learning and creating, and the fun we have along the way, are all that matters. 

Maybe we all need a little more of that. 

To create like children again.

Photo by pine watt 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

Garbage In, Garbage Out: Your Focus Defines Your Success

“Garbage In, Garbage Out” doesn’t just apply to computers—it applies to your life. The people you spend time with, the content you consume, and the habits you build shape your future. Want better results? Choose better inputs.

“You are the average of the five people you spend the most time with.” – Jim Rohn

“You are what you repeatedly do.” – Aristotle

“Show me your friends, and I’ll show you your future.” – John Kuebler

“Your life is controlled by what you focus on.” – Tony Robbins

The old phrase, “garbage in, garbage out” doesn’t only apply to computers and databases. It applies to how we live our lives.

Our inputs—the people we surround ourselves with, the information we consume, and the habits we cultivate—shape our outcomes.

If you spend time with amazing, imaginative, productive, and adventurous people, chances are you’ll start adopting some of those same qualities. At a minimum, you’ll develop personal goals that push you to emulate those qualities in your own way.

On the other hand, if you surround yourself with negative, self-destructive, bitter, or complacent people, their mindset and behaviors will slowly seep into your own life. Even if you think you’re immune, habits and attitudes are contagious.

Small Choices Compound Over Time

Consider this simple example.

If you exercise at least three days per week, you’ll see progress. Do it five days per week, and your results will be even better.

But if you instead have the habit of drinking a large chocolate shake for lunch every day, the impact won’t be immediate, but with time you’ll notice a negative shift in your health and energy levels.

Neither of these changes happen overnight.  But over months and years, they define who you become.

Our small choices create big results.

The Status Quo Trap—It’s Hard to Change

It’s obvious that if you run toward a cliff, ignoring all the warning signs, you’re in for a big fall. But in real life, it’s rarely that clear.

Like the boiling frog who doesn’t realize the water is heating up until it’s too late, many people stay in toxic environments, bad habits, or unproductive routines because the declining results are slow and gradual. It doesn’t feel urgent—until suddenly, it is.

Our Inputs Dictate Our Outputs—So Choose Wisely

Our mind works like an algorithm.  What we feed it shapes what it returns to us.

If we constantly consume negative news, gossip, or toxic social media, our mindset will reflect it.

If we surround ourselves with people who challenge us to grow, read books that inspire us, and engage in meaningful conversations, our perspective will shift toward productivity and fulfillment.

The good news? We choose. And by making intentional choices, we set the trajectory for our future.

Challenge: Take an Inventory of Your Inputs

For the next week, pay attention to what’s influencing you.  Your environment, the content you consume, and the habits you engage in.

Who are the five people you spend the most time with? Are they making you better?

What are you reading, watching, and listening to? Is it fueling growth or draining your potential?

What small habit could you start today that would improve your future?

The inputs you choose today will shape who you become tomorrow, next year, and a decade from now.

Your choices matter.  Make them count.

Photo by William Topa on Unsplash