The first version of almost anything is an act of discovery. We’re learning in real time, usually without understanding what we’re building. We don’t yet know which parts will matter, which ones deserve less attention, or where the challenges are.
The first version is shaped by assumptions. Some accurate, others incomplete. It’s often held together by optimism and a willingness to learn as we go.
The first generation isn’t meant to be polished or permanent. Its purpose is proof of life.
Does this idea work at all? Do we enjoy pursuing it? Is there something here worth continuing once the novelty fades?
Many ideas never move beyond that first stage. Excitement gives way to routine. Maintenance enters the picture. It’s decision time.
Is this something I’m willing to own, or was I simply exploring an interesting possibility?
If the answer leans toward exploration alone, the idea stalls, usually forever. It never makes the leap from curiosity to commitment.
That leap matters.
William Hutchison Murray said it well, “Until one is committed, there is hesitancy…the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too.”
The second generation begins at that moment of commitment.
If we choose to begin version two, everything changes.
We’re no longer experimenting or learning if this idea works. We’re deciding that it matters enough to carry forward.
We’re operating with experience now. We’ve seen where effort was misdirected and where the momentum came from. We understand which details carry lasting value and which ones only seemed important at first.
More importantly, we own it now.
That’s why the second generation feels heavier. The weight of responsibility belongs to us. We know too much to pretend otherwise.
An idea that survives long enough to earn a second version has already passed an important test. It has encountered reality and endured.
The first generation asks whether something can exist. The second generation answers whether it should continue.
From there, our work evolves. Spontaneous ideation turns into direction. The purpose becomes clearer than the feature set. Identity begins to emerge.
This is how we do it. This is what matters. This is what we’re willing to stand behind.
The second generation is the foundation for everything that follows…far more than the first. It establishes patterns, standards, and expectations for what comes next.
Tackling version one takes courage. But finishing that version is only part of the journey.
The deeper test lies in beginning again. This time with clearer eyes, better judgment, and full ownership of what we’re building.
We move from discovering what we could build to owning what’s truly worth building.
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.”
Over the last 15 years, I’ve written a lot of words.
Words shaped by work and leadership challenges.
Words that grew out of quiet reflection or things that caught my attention at just the right moment.
Many of them were also shaped by family, faith, mistakes, and moments that stayed with me longer than I expected.
More than a few people have suggested I start a podcast. They’d tell me it’s a lot easier to listen than it is to keep up with a bunch of new reading assignments each week.
While my mom was still alive and living with significant vision loss from macular degeneration, I gave the idea serious thought. Listening would have been the only practical way for her to “read” my posts.
Unfortunately, that “serious thought” didn’t turn into action in time for her to benefit.
Ironically, for someone who usually believes in starting, then figuring things out along the way, I let all the steps required to set up a podcast get in the way of beginning.
Until now.
So today, I’m launching a new podcast:
Grandpa Bob Encouraging Leadership
This podcast is a series of short reflections on leadership, life, and learning. I’m sharing them first and foremost with my grandchildren…and with anyone else who might be listening in.
The episodes are intentionally brief, thoughtful, and unhurried.
They’re the kind of reflections you can listen to on a walk, during a quiet drive, or at the start or end of your day.
They’re meant to create space, not fill it.
Who it’s for
At its heart, this podcast is for my grandkids.
Someday, years from now, I want them to be able to hear my voice and know what mattered to me.
The things I noticed. What I learned the hard way. What I hope they carry with them as they find their own way in the world.
But leadership lessons rarely belong to just one audience.
So, if you’re listening, as a parent, a leader, a teacher, or simply someone trying to live well, you’re welcome here too.
What we’ll talk about
Each episode explores a simple idea. Here are some examples:
-Showing up when progress feels slow
-Letting go of certainty
-Choosing gratitude over entitlement
-Learning to wait without drifting
-Leading with trust, humility, and patience
-Paying attention to what’s quietly shaping us
There won’t be hype. There won’t be slogans. There certainly won’t be any fancy edits.
I’ll discuss questions worth talking about, and observations a loving grandfather hopes to pass along to his grandkids.
An invitation
You can find Grandpa Bob Encouraging Leadership wherever you listen to podcasts.
Don’t worry if you can’t listen to every episode.
Please feel free to disagree with anything I say. I don’t have a monopoly on the right answers.
If even one episode helps you pause, notice something new, or steady yourself a little, then it’s doing what it was meant to do.
Thanks for listening.
And if you’re one of my grandkids reading this someday, know that I believe in you and I’m always rooting for you.
If you’re listening alongside them, the same is true for you.
As we enter 2026, it’s tempting to look for a new system, a better plan, or the perfect moment to begin.
Most of the time, the real answer is simpler.
Just show up.
The secret to progress isn’t brilliance or motivation. It isn’t certainty or confidence. It’s presence.
Show up every day. Show up when it’s easy. Show up when it’s uncomfortable. Show up when you don’t know what comes next.
Show up and be present. Show up and handle your business. Show up and figure it out as you go. Show up for the people you love. Show up for the work that matters. Show up for yourself.
When you’re unsure what to do next, don’t overthink it. Show up and take the next step. Clarity usually follows movement.
The alternative is standing down. Waiting. Drifting. Quietly giving up ground you were meant to claim.
You’re stronger than that.
Progress is rarely dramatic. It’s built through consistency. Through ordinary days stacked on top of each other. Choosing to show up when no one is watching.
The hard things happen because you showed up. The meaningful things happen because you stayed. The impossible things only happen when you refuse to disappear.
There’s another truth hidden in showing up.
When you show up, you give others permission to do the same. Your presence becomes proof. Your consistency becomes encouragement. People notice. They realize they can take the next step too.
So how do you crush your goals in 2026?
You don’t wait for the perfect plan. You don’t wait to feel ready.
You show up. You make it happen.
Because that’s what you do. And this is how things get done.
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.
Every December, I return to a familiar practice. I reread a few of my older posts, looking for threads that might help clarify my thinking about the year ahead. Last year, on the final day of 2024, I wrote a short post on my goals for 2025:
-Serve the quests of others over my own -Offer insights and advice, not direction -Push beyond my comfort zone and inspire others to do the same -Bring the loaves and fishes, and trust God with the rest
I see that I longed for simplicity without mentioning it directly. I wanted more presence, more clarity, more intention, and a little less noise in a world that seems to generate more every year.
This week, as I listened to Tim Ferriss speak with Derek Sivers, Seth Godin, and Martha Beck about simplifying life, I realized this desire has been with me for a long time. More than a decade ago, I wrote a short post called Becoming a Chief Simplicity Officer, describing how organizations thrive when they remove friction and create clean intuitive paths so people can focus on what truly matters. The idea was straightforward. When systems run smoothly, people flourish.
It turns out this Chief Simplicity Officer role fits in life just as well as leadership. Someone needs to step into the work of reducing complexity, eliminating friction, and clearing space for the things that deserve attention. Someone needs to guard the essentials by shedding the excess.
That someone is me, and it’s you in your life.
From Tim Ferriss’s Podcast
Derek Sivers: Simple Isn’t Easy, but It Is Freedom
Derek Sivers says simplicity requires intention. It doesn’t appear just because we cut a few tasks or say no occasionally. It takes shape when we clear away commitments that no longer belong and choose what contributes to the life we want to live. He often talks about building life from first principles instead of living on top of default settings.
Every recurring obligation fills space that could hold something meaningful. Every dependency adds weight. Every unfinished task pulls at the edges of our attention.
What possibilities would rise if complexity stopped crowding the edges of your life?
Seth Godin: Boundaries Create Clarity
Seth Godin approaches simplicity through the lens of clarity. When you know exactly who your work is for, you stop bending your days around expectations that were never meant to guide your decisions. Clear boundaries turn vague intentions into choices you can actually live out.
Simplicity often follows sharper edges. Define your edges, and the path through each day becomes easier to walk.
Martha Beck: Choose Joy, Not Habit
Martha Beck speaks of simplicity in the language of joy. She tells a story from her twenties when she made a single choice that reshaped her life. She turned toward joy and stepped away from misery, even when the joyful path cost more in the moment. Joy has a way of clearing the fog. It cuts through distraction and highlights what brings life.
Her words invite us to examine the decisions we’ve kept out of habit or comfort. Some habits strengthen our soul. Others only multiply clutter. Joy reveals the difference.
Ten Simplicity Moves for the Start of 2026
These actions are small, but each one lightens the load. They remove stones from a shoe you may have been walking with for years without realizing.
Cancel one subscription that no longer serves you. Even a small change can create a surprising sense of clarity.
Choose one non-negotiable time boundary and honor it. Maybe evening email and scrolling limits or a weekly focus block on your calendar. Small open spaces accumulate over time.
Simplify one recurring decision. Automate it, template it, or eliminate it entirely.
Pause one habit you maintain out of inertia. Give yourself a week to assess its value.
Identify one activity that consistently brings joy and schedule time for it this week.
Unsubscribe from three email lists that add noise instead of value.
Clear one surface you see every day. A calm space refreshes the mind.
Revisit your goals from last year and carry forward only what still matters. Release the rest.
Decide who you are working for. Clarity about your audience sharpens the work you choose to do.
Ask yourself one grounding question: What do I truly need to live the life I want? Let your answer shape what stays and what goes.
Looking Back at 2025 and Forward Into 2026
My goals for 2025 were aimed at deeper alignment with the things I care about. They served me well and opened my heart to possibilities I never would have imagined. I’ll carry these goals into 2026 (and beyond).
For 2026, I’m adding one specific goal to my list. I started working on this goal a few months ago, and it’s pushing me way outside of my comfort zone. While it’s a personal quest (and not one that serves the quests of others over my own), I believe it will serve others on their journey. I’ll be bringing the loaves and fishes and trusting God to do the rest. I’ll share more details later.
A Closing Invitation
Simplicity grows as unnecessary weight falls away and clarity rises in its place. You don’t need a title or a plan to begin.
You only need to choose.
Choose clarity.
Choose boundaries.
Choose joy.
Choose to be the Chief Simplicity Officer in your own life.
Let this be the year you simplify your days and rediscover the freedom and clarity that come from intentional living.
From thirty thousand feet, the land below looks like a patchwork of roads and fields. Each marks a choice someone once made about where to go. Some stretch straight and steady. Others twist through hills or fade out of sight. Together they form a map of movement and direction, a living story of people who kept choosing the next road.
Life feels the same way. The routes change, but the invitation stays the same. Keep moving to find greater meaning.
The most rewarding paths often pass through three places. Serving others, staying curious, and daring to pursue new goals.
Service opens our heart. When we give to something beyond ourselves, our life expands. For the younger generation, it teaches them that purpose grows through generosity and connection. Helping a friend, joining a cause, or showing up for someone who needs encouragement builds an identity rooted in contribution. Later in life, service transforms experience into legacy. It turns lessons into guidance and presence into impact. Every act of service whispers that we still matter.
Curiosity keeps that whisper alive. It invites discovery and reminds us that wonder never expires. For young adults, curiosity shifts attention from comparison to possibility. It fuels creativity and builds resilience (because nobody said it would be easy). For those further down the road, curiosity revives joy. Learning something new, exploring unfamiliar tools, or asking deeper questions renews their spirit.
Big goals complete the trio. Ambition alone can fade, but big dreams shaped by purpose bring hope to life. For the young, bold goals turn uncertainty into motion. For the experienced, they rekindle the thrill of becoming. The thrill of pursuing. Every goal, whether to build, create, teach, or grow, reminds the soul that movement still matters. Hope rises with every goal we dare to pursue.
Many people never take these paths. Fear of failure, fear of embarrassment, fear of losing face…they each build fences where we can hide. Quiet excuses convincing us to play small and call it wisdom.
Fear says, “Stay comfortable.” Curiosity says, “Let’s see what happens.”
When fear wins, both young and old lose sight of their forward motion. The young adult who fears being judged easily drifts into hopelessness. The older adult who hesitates to dream again slips into quiet surrender. The reasons sound different, yet the root feels the same. Fear has taken the wheel. Stagnation and hopelessness follow.
Purpose waits just ahead. It lives in the next act of kindness, the next mystery to be solved, the next dream still worth chasing.
The pathways to a rewarding life have no finish line. Every act of service, every curious step, every daring goal breathes new life into our soul.
When we explore these paths, joy and fulfillment will be our companion.
Photo by Line Kjær on Unsplash – I wonder what’s in the next valley. Let’s go find out.
The days feel long, but our years disappear. I’ve been thinking about how easily “someday” turns into “back then.” We spend so much of life working toward what’s next that we sometimes forget we’re already living the moments we’ll one day remember with gratitude.
This truth reaches us at every age. Whether we shape our future with intention or let it unfold on its own, it arrives and quietly invites us to participate. This reflection is about the sweetness of now and noticing that these moments become the story we’re creating together.
Each day arrives on its own, small and full of potential. It doesn’t ask for much. Only our attention, our care, and our willingness to be here. The hours move like honey, slow and golden, rich with sweetness if we take time to notice. Yet the years rush by quietly. One morning we look up and realize the future we worked toward has become the past we cherish.
What we dreamed about for so long is happening now. This day, with its imperfections, interruptions, and small joys, is the life we once hoped to reach. It’s the tomorrow we imagined, already unfolding beneath our feet.
Time helps us see backward with gratitude and forward with wonder. We remember the faces and laughter that have softened into memory. We hold them gently, realizing how meaning hides in ordinary moments.
Each day is a life of its own. Complete, sacred, and fleeting. When we let its minutes open slowly, like sunlight through leaves, we find gratitude sweetening everything it touches. Our wonder grows in quiet places.
“Then” is always born of “now.” When we live this moment with attention, kindness, and a sense of awe, it never really fades. It simply changes shape, becoming the stories we tell, the lessons we pass along, and the love that lingers long after the moment has gone.
I saw The Secret Life of Walter Mitty on an airplane ride recently. At a significant moment in the story, we hear the line, “Beautiful things don’t ask for attention.”
The photographer in the story chooses not to take a coveted photo of the elusive snow leopard. Instead, he simply enjoys the beautiful moment with his own eyes.
Real beauty doesn’t need to perform. It’s authentic and humble, whether anyone stops to notice or not.
A person of character lives this way. They have no need to prove themselves. They show up with kindness, consistency, and honesty. The neighbor who shovels snow from an elderly woman’s driveway before dawn, leaving no trace. Or the teacher who stays late to help a struggling student, never mentioning it to anyone.
The beauty of their character reveals itself in the way they live each day.
Humility makes this possible. It allows a life to shine without glare, to influence others by being genuine. Like mountains that reflect the glow of sunrise or wildflowers blooming unseen in a meadow, people of quiet integrity embody a beauty that doesn’t depend on recognition.
In our culture that rewards noise and spectacle, this is easy to forget. We’re told to broadcast accomplishments and measure our worth by attention. Yet the most meaningful lives belong to those who live true to themselves, free from the need for applause.
The things that endure, whether in people or in nature, carry their beauty without fanfare. They simply are.
There’s a paradox in writing about something that exists most powerfully in silence. Maybe that’s the point. Celebrating this kind of beauty without claiming it for ourselves.
But we can learn to recognize it. To be shaped and inspired by it. And, in our quieter moments, we can strive to live it.
Photo by Patrick Schaudel on Unsplash – some of my fondest memories involve waking up in a tent on crisp mountain mornings, basking in the beautiful glow of the rising sun.
I recently turned 59. Not the big 60 milestone but knocking on the door. In honor of this “almost-milestone” birthday, here are 59 lessons or truths I’ve picked up along the way that may be helpful for you:
Family is the greatest treasure. I’ve learned this from countless dinners, phone calls, and quiet moments of simply being together.
Love grows when you give it away.
Small kindnesses matter more than big speeches. Holding a door, writing a note, or showing up means more than most people will admit.
A campfire has a way of pulling people closer. Some of our best conversations happened with smoke in our face and stars overhead.
Walks in the woods teach patience. The trail never hurries, but it always leads you somewhere good, even if the trail leads back to where you started.
Listening is often better than speaking.
Start, even if you don’t know the finish line.
Forgiveness frees the forgiver.
Work hard, but not so hard you miss the laughter at the dinner table. That laughter is life fuel.
Friendships need tending like gardens.
A calm mind shapes a calm day. How you manage your thoughts sets the tone for how you live, not just how you lead.
Prayer steadies shaky ground.
Scars are inevitable but can become footholds.
Your children and grandchildren remember the times you kept your word. Integrity is how love earns trust over a lifetime.
Music can heal a weary spirit.
Laughter with grandchildren is holy ground. Even the silliest joke can create amazing memories.
Take pictures but also put your phone down.
The best conversations happen unplanned, often on the way to somewhere else.
God shows up in ordinary moments.
Start with what you have, not what you lack.
Be quick to encourage. A word of encouragement can feel like oxygen to someone gasping for air.
Time with your spouse is the best investment you’ll ever make.
A sunrise reminds us the story isn’t over.
Be generous with money, with time, and with grace.
Don’t underestimate a good meal shared…even a bad meal shared.
Patience is a form of love.
Read good books slowly. And read them aloud. I’ll never forget the nights of reading Harry Potter chapters to my kids, one voice carrying us all to another world.
Children teach us as much as we teach them.
A soft answer turns away wrath.
Slow down for sunsets.
Stay curious, even at 59.
Hold babies gently, but often.
Let go of what you can’t control.
Keep your promises, even the small ones. If you can’t be trusted in the little things, no one will trust you with the big ones.
Coffee or a meal with a friend beats any meeting.
Rest is productive.
Gratitude doesn’t just brighten the day. It multiplies joy in ways you can’t measure. It shifts ordinary moments into holy ones.
The journey matters more than the finish line.
Never be too proud to say, “I was wrong.” Or “I don’t know.”
Faith isn’t about knowing all the answers.
Celebrate progress, not perfection.
Trails are better with company. I’ve seen some of the deepest conversations unfold at mile three.
Be the first to say “thank you.”
Find work you believe in, but don’t let it define you.
Love is the legacy worth leaving.
Don’t compare. Contentment is wealth.
Your words can build or break. Choose to build. Always.
A long hug can mend a broken heart. I’ve felt that healing in the arms of family.
Keep learning, keep growing. Continuous improvement matters. Even the smallest step forward is still forward.
Tradition ties generations together, especially if that tradition involves an old family recipe that takes hours and lots of teamwork to make.
Tell stories. Your family needs them. Stories pass down more than facts. They carry history and identity.
Choose wonder over cynicism.
You can’t outgive God, but you can follow His example.
Every season has its beauty. Even Oklahoma summers with their heat and humidity have sunsets worth pausing for (clearly I appreciate sunrises and sunsets).
Be present. Tomorrow isn’t promised.
Family trust is sacred. Break it once, and it may never return the same. Protect it as carefully as you protect your home.
Celebrate the small wins. A child’s smile, a project finished, or a quiet evening with family. Cherish these moments.
Joy often hides in the small, ordinary things.
Life is a gift. At every age, unwrap it with wonder.
4 Bonus Lessons (which means I came up with four more that I didn’t want to exclude)
Adapt or be left behind. If you’re the best buggy whip maker, prepare to adapt when automobiles come out. Don’t cling to the past so tightly that you miss the future.
The quiet miracle of savings and compound interest. Einstein was right. Compound interest is the most amazing thing. Steadily and quietly setting aside a portion of your income builds your wealth over time. It also provides peace of mind and freedom for your future self.
Learn outside your lane. Take time to study things that don’t seem connected to your work. The most important lessons often come from entirely different fields.
Travel opens two windows. When you visit a new country, you learn about their culture, their food, their people. But you also return seeing your own home differently…with gratitude, with perspective, and with fresh eyes.
Grandpa Bob Encouraging Leadership 
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