Life – Page 2 – Grandpa Bob Encouraging Leadership

Beautiful Things Don’t Ask for Attention

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.

59 Lessons at 59

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.

Photo by Mantas Hesthaven on Unsplash

What Is Happily Ever After?

The glass slipper fits perfectly. The prince takes Cinderella’s hand. The castle doors swing open, and as the camera pans out over the kingdom, the narrator’s voice declares, “And they lived happily ever after.”

The end.

What comes next?

Did Cinderella and her prince travel the world together? Did they have children who drove them to the brink of exhaustion? Did she struggle to adjust to palace life? Did they face illness, loss, or financial strain? How did they support each other as they learned to build their life together?

“Happily ever after” is a blank canvas. It conjures a series of images in our head. Successes we dream of, milestones we hope to reach, adventures we’re planning, moments of pure joy we can almost taste.

For some, happily ever after is a corner office overlooking the city, business-class flights to international conferences, and coming home to a modern apartment where everything has its place.

For others, it’s Saturday morning pancakes with kids mixing the batter in a cloud of flour dust or teaching their daughter to ride a bike. Quiet evenings on the porch planning their next camping trip.

Still others may crave a life of endless travel, vagabonding from place to place, sampling cuisine from every corner of the world as they go.

There are as many versions of happiness and fulfilment as there are people.

Social media tries to curate our happiness by showing us picture-perfect moments. Engagement photos against stunning backdrops, vacation snapshots from exotic locations (often peering over two perfectly poured wine glasses on a balcony), career announcements celebrating promotions and new ventures.

These snippets of other people’s lives create a happiness catalog. A collection of achievements and experiences that can feel like requirements for a well-lived life.

We may start believing that fulfillment looks like someone else’s Instagram story, someone else’s LinkedIn update, someone else’s holiday letter.

Seeking fulfillment by following someone else’s template is always a fool’s errand.

Sure, be inspired by someone else’s success. Maybe borrow a travel idea, or try something new. But their world operates differently than ours. Their values, circumstances, and dreams belong uniquely to them.

What brings them deep satisfaction might leave us feeling empty. What fills our hearts might seem trivial to them.

True fulfillment can only come from our own perspectives, our own values, and our own definition of what makes us, and those we love, happiest.

Real “happily ever after” is wonderfully messy and beautifully imperfect. It blends all the goals and aspirations we have with all the compromises and adjustments we’ve made along the way.

Goals that seemed essential in our twenties might be irrelevant in our forties. The dreams we never imagined decades ago can suddenly become our life’s new mission.

This evolution reflects an ongoing process of learning who we are and what truly matters to us. Independent of what we thought we would want…or what others told us we should want.

Happily ever after lives in the ongoing appreciation of what we’ve built and who we’ve become. Our story matters because it’s still unfolding and it’s authentically ours. It doesn’t need to resemble the someone else’s highlight reel.

The glass slipper that fits you perfectly will look nothing like Cinderella’s. Maybe it’s a hiking boot, flip-flops, a running shoe, or something very formal, made of fancy leather…or no shoes at all.

You choose.

And that’s exactly as it should be.

Photo by Ella Heineman on Unsplash – because one of my greatest joys is making breakfast for my kids and grandkids on a Saturday morning…a wonderful part of my happily ever after.

The Thing Before the Thing IS the Thing

Somewhere along the way, I’ve noticed a quiet truth.

The thing I was working toward (the goal, the vision, the project, the finish line) always required other steps. Preparation. Research. Practice. Training. A foundation. A warm-up.

While I tried to focus on the thing I wanted to do, most of my time was spent doing all the other things that needed to happen first.

Building a deck means hauling lumber, squaring the posts, digging holes…and at least three trips to Home Depot. Writing a book means staring at blank pages, deleting paragraphs (and chapters), and researching obscure details that may never make it to print. Staying in shape means lacing up your shoes at dawn when no one else is watching. Starting a business means filling out countless forms, talking to lots of people who say no, and revisiting your reasons why, countless times.

These tasks are not detours or distractions. They are merely steps on the journeys we’ve chosen.

If we can learn to love these quiet and often unnoticed tasks that prepare the way, we may find the joy we’re seeking was there all along.

We might discover that the thing we’re chasing isn’t the prize. It only led us to the road we were meant to walk. To meet the people we were meant to meet.

So go ahead. Lace up your shoes at dawn. Cut that first board. Tape off all the areas you don’t want to paint. Make that first sales pitch. Get to know people you never expected to meet.

Embrace all the steps that come before the thing.

It turns out, they are the thing.

“Give me six hours to chop down a tree and I will spend the first four sharpening the axe.” — Abraham Lincoln

Photo by Brett Jordan 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

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

What Worked Yesterday Isn’t Enough – Rethinking Customer Expectations and Continuous Improvement

I heard a quote recently from Tony Xu, the CEO of DoorDash:

“What we’ve delivered for a customer yesterday probably isn’t good enough for what we will deliver for them today.”

It’s not about failure. Xu isn’t saying we got it wrong. He’s pointing to something more subtle that applies not only to tech companies like DoorDash, but to every business in every industry. Regional banks. Manufacturers. Educators. Consultants. Entrepreneurs. Even nonprofit leaders. No one is exempt.

It’s tempting to believe that what worked before will keep working. After all, if it’s not broken, why fix it? That quiet assumption that if we keep doing what we’ve always done, success will follow.

But that mindset is quietly dangerous. The world isn’t that simple.

Customers don’t live in yesterday. They live in the now. They’re comparing their experience with us not just to our competitors, but to the best parts of every interaction they’ve had today.

They’re comparing our website to their grocery buying app. Our onboarding process to a streaming service subscription they love. Our customer service calls to the help they received (or didn’t) from their cell phone company.

We’re not being compared to the bank down the road or the business across the street. We’re being measured against the most seamless, most helpful, most human-centered experience our customers have ever had.

That’s a very high bar. It’s unfair…and they don’t care.

It’s easy to forget their perspective from inside our organizations. We become focused on the big system conversion we’re managing, the vendor issue we’re troubleshooting, the reorganization plans we’re working on this quarter, or the new regulatory review that’s keeping us up at night.

These are real and important things. But the customer doesn’t see them, nor should they.

They’re living in their own world, with their own challenges and needs. They’re asking, quietly and constantly, “Are you making this easier, or harder, for me?”

They’re rightfully selfish in that way.

Some important questions to consider:

–What are my customers or team members quietly expecting that I haven’t noticed yet?

–What have I continued doing because it worked before, even though the market has changed?

–What future am I preparing for? The one I’ve known in the past, or the one that’s unfolding in a new direction?

–Am I making excuses that only make sense inside our organization?

I don’t think leadership is about chasing every trend. But I do believe it’s about staying awake. Staying open. Listening for what’s emerging and not just reacting to what someone else has made clear.

The fact that something worked yesterday doesn’t make it sacred. It makes it a foundation. And foundations are meant to be built upon…not celebrated as finished.

If we truly care about the people we serve, we’ll stay curious about how to serve them better. Because they’re not standing still. Their lives are shifting. Our job isn’t to cling (desperately) to relevance. It’s to keep earning it.

So, we never stop building. We keep asking the hard questions. We stay close to our customers so we can hear what they’re not saying yet. And we must choose to meet tomorrow’s expectations before they arrive at our doorstep.

Yesterday’s work mattered. It carried us here. But it’s today’s effort—and our willingness to keep stretching—that will decide if we’re still invited to serve tomorrow.

As Shunryu Suzuki once said, “In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities. In the expert’s mind, there are few.”

It’s great to be an expert in our field. But sometimes, a beginner’s mindset is exactly what we need to see things from the most important perspective. Our current and future customers’ perspective.

Photo by Bayu Syaits on Unsplash – I love the imagery of these two climbers at the top of a mountain. They may take a short rest to celebrate their achievement, but that next peak is already in their sights.

Tacos and Time Travelers…a Dinner Conversation About the Future (and Everything That Matters)

The other night, over a casual taco dinner, one of my grandkids hit me with a question I wasn’t expecting.

“Grandpa, how old will you be in the year 2100?”

Without missing a beat, I shot back, “Nearly 140. Way too old to still be around!”

I may have been off by a few years, but we all agreed: the odds are stacked against me making it to 2100.

Then we started doing the math together, and that’s where things got interesting. They’ll be in their 90s by then. Their children and grandchildren—my great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren—will be alive and thriving in that future world. A reminder that we’re part of something much bigger. Connected to the past, but carried forward by those who will come long after we’ve gone.

“Okay, but how old will you be in 2050?”

That one felt closer, more real. “Well,” I said, “not quite 90, but almost. And you’ll be under 50.”

“What will we be doing in 2050, Grandpa?”

That’s a question only they can answer. I won’t pretend to know. I hope I’m there for at least part of it. I hope I get to laugh with them, to listen, to remind them where they came from, and to cheer them on wherever they’re headed.

Our conversation turned into something more than tacos and timelines. We started talking about how every generation builds on what came before. We carry what we’ve learned from our parents and grandparents, along with our own experiences, and hand all of that to our children and grandchildren. And they, in turn, will do the same.

Their children, my great-grandchildren, aren’t here yet, but I already have high hopes for them. I look forward to holding them, hearing their stories, and watching them discover the world just as their parents are starting to do today.

I hope they’ll learn the big things:

-How a starry sky can quiet our soul.

-How to throw and catch with confidence (it’s baseball season, so this one is top of mind right now).

-How warm and magical a campfire can be…and that S’mores taste better when your hands are sticky.

-How good it feels to help without being asked.

-How to sit quietly with someone we love and say nothing at all.

-How to cheer for someone else, even when the spotlight isn’t ours.

-The peace that comes from a walk in the woods or along a sandy shore.

But I also know they’ll learn things I’ll never understand. Things I can’t even imagine. And that’s exactly as it should be.

My deepest hope is that they’ll carry forward the timeless lessons. That love matters more than being right. That kindness isn’t weakness. That telling the truth is not only brave, but also the only way.

And that family stories are worth retelling…especially the funny ones.

So, here’s to future taco dinners, to great-grandkids I haven’t met, and to the storytellers of tomorrow.

May they keep the best of us within them always.

A Poem for My Grandkids

We sat with tacos, our chips in hand,
When you asked a question I hadn’t planned.
“Grandpa, will you still be here in 2100?”
“Not likely,” I laughed, “I’d be too old by then.”

And then we wondered who’ll be around,
Your kids and theirs, with dreams unbound.
Building a world we won’t see,
Carrying forward the best from you and from me.

We talked of shooting stars and catching balls,
Of S’mores by the fire and the night’s gentle call.
Of helping for nothing, of walking alone,
And learning to love with a heart fully grown.

You’ll learn things I’ll never know,
With gadgets and wonders I can’t imagine.
Even so, I hope what we’ve lived still finds its place,
In stories you tell with a smile on your face.

Here’s to the moments that grow into more,
To questions and memories, and tales we explore.
May love be your guide in all that you do,
And may our stories stay with you, and echo on through time.

p/c – That’s Charlie (in the cowboy hat) and Marcus from a few years ago, perfecting their marshmallow roasting techniques.

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.

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