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    • Walking the Line

      Walking this morning on Cape Cod I saw turkey tracks in the snow. The funny thing about turkey tracks is they look like arrows, pointing this way and that, as if to tell you to Go here! No, go there! Turkey walk in circles looking for food, and their tracks point you, if you tried to follow the “arrows”, towards the same madness. It’s a wonder of confusion and I smiled at the sight of it.

      I’m glad I walked early, because overnight snow didn’t stand a chance on the edge of Buzzards Bay, where the ocean moderates temperatures as easily as it moderates moods. Looking at the temperatures in New Hampshire, there was a 21 degree difference between the hills up north and Cape Cod. 100 miles and 200 feet of elevation make a big difference between order and chaos when you’re talking snow.

      If turkey tracks are scattered madness, the surf line offers a measure of predictability, for even on its own erratic path it still runs roughly parallel. The surf line finds its own path, curving and cutting this way and that based on the push of the swell, the contour of the sand and the strength of the breeze. The funny thing about the surf line is that it looks similar whether you’re up close on a quiet pre-dawn beach on Buzzards Bay or flying 1000 feet above the New Hampshire coast in a Piper Cub. Up close very different. Add the right distance and the mind tricks you.

      We’re incredibly lucky now, with these great leaps across time and space. Anything is possible, really, in our timelines in this time. Yesterday I woke up in Ithaca, New York, watched a college basketball game in Rhode Island, and went to sleep on Cape Cod. This morning I walked on the beach and this afternoon I was shoveling snow back in the hills of New Hampshire. I could easily be in London or California or some other place for breakfast tomorrow morning if time, money and responsibilities allowed. Quick leaps between here and there are possible, which makes the world a magical place.

      I run into a lot of people who march along a pretty straight line in their lives, not straying far from home, going to the same job every day, taking the same vacation to the same place for a week or two every year. I’ve tried that line, and it’s not me. Granted, you don’t want to be a turkey moving about in circles with no rhyme or reason to where you’re going. But what’s the fun in traveling a straight path from here to there? Don’t be a turkey, play along the surf line! Follow your own path as it meanders along, but with an eye towards the destination. You’ll still get from here to there, but the path will be a lot more interesting.

    • Fences on Bridges

      When you live in the north, you don’t even see them most of the time. And why would you? When you’re driving you’ve got other things to worry about, like other cars and large mammals leaping in front of your vehicle. There’s plenty of evidence of how that ends for the mammal dotted along the roadways. So inanimate objects understandably don’t get a lot of attention, especially when the inanimate object is a chain link fence atop a bridge you’re driving under. But I think about those fences, and was reminded why last week.

      There’s only one purpose to fencing edging the sides of bridges; to keep what’s on the bridge from plummeting off the bridge to the ground or road below. This is critical for keeping, say, an avalanche of snow coming off a snowplow from suddenly blinding the vision of an unsuspecting driver when it lands on their windshield. I’ve experienced this, and don’t recommend seeking it out in your winter travels.

      The fencing also serves to keep people from accidentally or deliberately exiting the bridge using the side exits. And I was reminded of this purpose last week as I drove down I-90 last week, looked up and saw the flowers. And the flowers reminded me of the darkest day in a college friend’s life, when he looked over that bridge and saw his daughter lying on the side of the road, feet from where I was driving last week, almost two years since he held her lifeless body in that place. She’d climbed over that fence in the middle of the night, and forever shattered many lives as she ended hers. I’m shattered for them, still.

      And now I look at bridge fences differently, especially that one. I’m grateful for the people the fences keep in to live another day, and mournful for the families of those who didn’t find the necessary impediment to their darkest inclination of the moment. May the fences be taller than the depths of someone else’s darkest moment.

    • Find The Gap

      When you bob around on the Tube in London you’re constantly reminded to “mind the gap”. It’s so frequently stated (at every stop) that it’s become a meme. The gap of course is the space between the train and the platform, which can be hazardous if you aren’t watching where you’re walking, ie: minding the gap. Reading an article in Harvard Business Review earlier this week, I read this twist on that phrase, which struck me as profound:

      “Jon Buchan, the director of London-based Charm Offensive, a creator of innovative cold emailing campaigns, applies [Stef] Curry’s disruptive basketball strategy to business: “Find a gap,” Buchan writes. “A chink in the armor. What is nobody else doing? Why is nobody else doing it? Would it be beneficial to get good at it? If so, try it.” … Figuring out what no one else is doing, and then doing it well, offers the greatest possibility of success, rapid acceleration, and hyper-growth.” – Whitney Johnson, “Reinvigorate Your Career by Taking the Right Kind of Risk”, Harvard Business Review

      Finding the gap, what nobody else is doing, certainly applies in business, and every progressive, forward-looking company continually pokes and prods their market looking for the gaps. Find a need, fill it and differentiate from the crowd. This is blue ocean versus red ocean territory, where a little elbow room offers room to grow something special. It lets you leverage your company’s strengths without getting nipped at by the sharks.

      Finding the gap, I believe, is about being aware, focused, open-minded, decisive, courageous and determined. Developing better writing skills (combined with the consistency of effort in doing it every day), reading with purpose, seeing more customers, listening and observing with focus and earnestly working for a higher purpose, I believe, give you the necessary gap radar skills. Combined it seems to adds up to a formula for both figuring out what no one else is doing, and then doing it well. Because doing it well… that’s the real trick, isn’t it? Don’t just find the gap, fill it with value.

    • Fresh Snow

      “Let us hope

      it will always be like this,
      each of us going on
      in our inexplicable ways
      building the universe.”

      – Mary Oliver, Song of the Builders

      After warm temperatures melted most of the snow left over from 2019 and the beginning of this month, we’re being dusted with fresh snow this morning. It’s a reset on winter after unseasonably warm weather, which seems appropriate for me as I do my own pivot in strategy after meetings in New Jersey. We’ve finally, blessedly, put 2019 behind us, and look ahead to what needs to happen now.

      People focus on New Year’s Day as a natural pivot point, but really it’s just a change to a new calendar. Pivoting is a mental game – you know when you’re ready to make changes. For me the pivot happens when I’ve digested all available information, processed strategy and set a course for myself. All of the peaks and valleys of last year fade into institutional memory, or maybe muscle memory, and the new climb begins in earnest.  The question recently has been what am I building?, and the last few days have clarified that for me.  I can look back on 2019 proud of what I accomplished, but frustrated with what I didn’t.  Or I can shove it aside and focus on what I’m doing today and what needs to happen next.  The choice seems obvious.

      This morning, now, it’s time to put aside the appreciation for the symbolic change the snow brings. It serves another purpose in reminding me of the urgency of the task at hand.  It’s time to stop reflecting and thinking and planning.  Time to pull on the boots and gloves and go clear the driveway.  My version of the cricket moving grains of sand and admittedly a small first step in the long journey ahead.  But you’ve got to start somewhere, and this is as good a place as any.  The snow isn’t going to move itself.

    • Dancing on the Line

      I travel a lot, and stay in many hotel rooms along the way.  My primary request when staying anywhere is to get a quiet room.  That means rooms that aren’t next to the elevators, the ice machine or in high traffic areas.  Ideally I won’t have a door that connects to another room.  So it’s disappointing when I get a neighbor who shouts profanities and talks to himself insanely in the room next to mine.  Last night was one of those nights, which meant I was considering wearing earplugs to sleep.  If I’ve learned anything from years of travel, it’s to be prepared for just about anything.  Insane people who talk to themselves are one of those life experiences I try to avoid, but sometimes you find yourself with just two thin doors between you and the crazy train. Luckily he quieted down and I slept peacefully (after confirming the door was bolted anyway).

      This morning I’m walking the loop around the hotel with three days of information and thousands of calories to digest. Morning walks help with both, and information transforms into checklists of things to do, areas to improve upon, people to meet with, things to learn more about and timelines to do it all. I normally follow the GTD process of writing things down to get them out of your head, but not having a notepad on the walk the jumble of thoughts become keywords to trigger memories instead. I’ll write it down later… knowing I need to do it before those words become a puzzle of my own mind. It reminded me of the wild rambling profanity of the guy next door. Maybe he just needed to get things out of his own head too. He does it his way, I do it mine. Just a thin door separating two approaches to sorting life’s complexities.

      One of the themes of my week has been walking the thin line between order and chaos. Exemplified by the yin and yang symbol, it’s the curving line between the black and white symbols that make up the whole. We all dip into both sides, but aim to dance along that line if possible. My hotel neighbor seemed to be a bit too far into chaos last night, while I was dancing the line pretty well this morning after my walk. We all trip now and then. Just get up, brush yourself off, get back on the line and keep dancing.

       

    • Scenario Planning and Backcasting

      “Consider a broad range of possibilities for how the future might unfold to help guide long-term planning and preparation…. The reason why we do reconnaissance is because we are uncertain. We don’t (and likely can’t) know how often things will turn out a certain way with exact precision…. By at least trying to assign probabilities, we will naturally move away from the default of 0% or 100%, away from being sure it will turn out one way and not another.” – Annie Duke, Thinking In Bets

      I was giving this book a few days to digest before coming back to this concept of scenario planning Duke writes about. To me this is the heart of her book (the title does give it away). I’m not a poker player, but I do think in future probabilities in my career, and found this concept helpful in how I’m looking at 2020 and beyond. This goes beyond the usual weighing the probability percentage on an opportunity you’re forecasting to close, and looking at the bigger picture. Will this tactic work on this project? Maybe. Will it hold up as sustainable for the next five years? Harder to determine. How will changes in the economy impact the probability of this outlook? Does living in the same house for the next ten years increase or decrease the likelihood of retiring with a big enough nest egg?

      These are the predictive exercises that clarify a vision for your future. When you combine it with another tool in your belt you can begin to identify actionable steps to get you there. Duke doubles down in covering the concept of backcasting, or working backwards from a positive future:

      “Identify the reasons they got there, what events occurred, what decisions were made, what went their way to get the enterprise to capture that market share. This enables the company to better identify strategies, tactics, and actions that need to be implemented to get to the goal.” – Annie Duke, Thinking In Bets

      The timing of this book was good for me as I map out the year ahead. I’m familiar with both techniques, but I’m not proficient at either. That’s something to work on as I refine my business plan for the year, and equally important for the other objectives in my life. A call to action, if you will, to clarify the vision and the steps needed to reach that outcome.

    • Early Riser Humility

      I brag about myself as an early riser, until I get out into the world and see how many get out there well before me. No, bragging is a fools game, there are plenty who get up earlier than you John. It would be better to state that I try to get an early start to my day. Leave the brag behind.

      I could say the same thing about everything I profess some measure of expertise or superiority about. Plenty do and know much more. I strive to be better at writing, exercise, career, observation, and being a better father, husband, son, brother, mentor and friend. We’re all just figuring it out as we go, picking up life skills along with technical expertise as we march along on our spin around the block of life. Pick up some knowledge, pass it along, help each other along the way, just as they’d help you. Life is humbling, but offers the same lessons for all of us should we wish to learn it.

      I write this between glances at the halo around the moon and the dark purple sky turning to blue and pink, as I walk and type on my phone trying to squeeze two important habits in before the day gets busy amongst the buzz of a world that woke up before me. I’ve managed to avoid tripping over myself thus far; surely a testament to luck versus skill. I wasn’t up first, but hey, I’m out here trying to get a little better. That’s something to build on, isn’t it?

    • Doing Things That Matter

      A little more than a year into my focus on daily habits, the overall the results are encouraging.  James Clear’s Atomic Habits poured gasoline on my focus on doing things that matter every day,  beginning with small things like reading more, writing every day and exercise.  It started with changing the routine when I got up in the morning, where once I’d consume sports media, check email, scroll through social media or play Words With Friends first thing in the morning, I started focusing on the very small habits that might move me forward.  Exercise to get the blood flowing, reading to get the brain matter firing on all cylinders, and writing, to finally do what I’ve been putting off for most of my life.  These aren’t everything that matter in my life, but they were the things I was pushing aside to focus on the other things.

      Priorities remain: family and work obligations come first, but following close behind are the daily habits. In fact, each habit improves the quality of my life, which improves the whole. Pretty simple, really, if you just incorporate the right habits and build them into your routine.  I’ve seen tangible momentum in all three, with the writing on this blog a measure of proof to consistency.  You’ll have to take my word for it on the exercise, and just like the writing daily habits add up over time.  I’ve seen the scale slowly – painfully slowly – showing consistent improvement.  I’ll take that.  I write a lot about writing, and walking.  And then there’s the reading….

      Once again the books are piling up, with four in the cue already I just purchased a Kindle version of Siddhartha by Herman Hesse and revisited Working Days: The Journals of The Grapes of Wrath 1938-1941.  It would be far better to finish one of the original pile before adding more, but so be it.  Books tap you on the shoulder and tell you “It’s my turn” when they feel you’re ready.  This morning Hesse and Steinbeck were both bullying their way into my reading time, and I welcomed them with open arms.  My reading is accelerating, not by speed-reading (which I’ve tried but don’t enjoy), but through focus and occasional multi-tasking (reading on the Kindle app on the iPhone while in line at the store, and more frequently, reading with maximum font on the treadmill while churning out steps).  Consistent, daily reading has been one of the best things I could’ve done for myself.

      So what else matters?  Plenty.  The world is getting exponentially better in many ways, and sliding into the abyss in a few ways.  If you want to improve the world around you it starts with contribution.  The more you do, the more capacity you have to contribute more; more effort, more money, more intellectual horsepower, more empathy, more credibility, and more time.  Ironic, isn’t it?  The more you do the more time you’ll find for the things that matter.  And there’s plenty that matters, if you take the time to think about it.  And that’s where I find myself today, thinking about it and taking a small measure of action, one step at a time.

    • 1917

      I saw the movie 1917 last night, and it’s stayed with me well into the morning. No spoilers here, just appreciation for an exceptional cinema experience. It’s the kind of movie I go to the movies to see; visually stunning, technical filmmaking with powerful acting that weaves between poignant scenes and heart-racing violence. Not the gratuitous, glamorized violence I’ve grown to hate in Hollywood nowadays (see the trailer for The Gentlemen for formula: turn your gun hand to 45 degrees and make a face), but the violent reality of a drawn-out war and the simplicity of two men on a mission in impossible conditions.  It’s the kind of movie you feel privileged to see in a theater, with the seats vibrating with every bang and boom and the full immersion the big screen offers, but without the testosterone-enhanced machismo of the Xbox/CGI movies.

      If this is the new golden age of television with HBO, Netflix and Amazon cranking out brilliant series, then where does that leave the classic craft of intelligent movies?  Blockbusters rule the movies because they make money.  I’ve had this debate with my aspiring screenwriter daughter and yes, I know, superhero films are an art form of their own.  That’s fine if you’re into them (and I know millions are into them).  Star Wars sequels and car chase movies pull in the dollars, but where do those of us that prefer to consume a different kind of entertainment experience go?  I appreciate the occasional visit to a cinema to see a truly great movie, but feel reluctant to part with my money to see CGI with a soundtrack.  So having a film like 1917 is a real treat – it satisfies both audiences.  I hope it’s the highest grossing movie of the year, because more films like it would get produced.

      I write all of this knowing the irony:  I choose to keep the television off most of the time and wouldn’t be heartbroken to cut the cord altogether.  I don’t play video games (computer chess is decidedly not a video game).  I’d rather take a walk in the woods or on the beach than go see an Avengers movie.  No, I’m most certainly not the target audience.  Which should make it all the more impactful when a movie draws me in this way.  If you can get me to go and rave about a movie, you should have a real winner on your hands.  Hero’s journey without the overtly formula plot twists. Dignity, courage and determination in a two hour journey through the horror of WWI: The Great War, the war to end all wars…. yet didn’t. Go see 1917 in a great movie theater, you won’t regret it.

    • Walking in Circles

      Last night I glanced at my watch and recognized that the walk streak was in peril.  I did the math, adding the drive times ahead of me, my son’s college basketball game I planned to watch, and the number of steps I had to do to get there.  I pulled into the parking lot of a small college in Massachusetts, glanced around and thought this was it; streak over.  I had to walk 2 miles to get over the hump, or 4000 steps.  It was a bitingly cold evening and the sun was setting.  What to do?  Walk around the campus as it got dark?  Possible, but this wasn’t a campus to wander around in the dark.  Safe, but completely foreign to me.  I told myself to stop thinking about it and just get out there, left the warmth of the car and walked down the hill looking for a path.  And there was the outdoor track, sprinkled in snow but mostly clear.  One gate was left unlocked, inviting runners and walkers to take a spin but getting no takers until I came along.  Floodlights remained cold and dark, as if to say “Why bother?  What kind of fool would be on this frozen track tonight?”  Hey there dark floodlights, I’m your fool!

      Did I mention the biting cold?  Yes?  Did I mention I was wearing business casual clothing with a light coat on and dress shoes?  No?  Well, that was the athletic attire for the two mile spin around the track in the darkening sky, shoehorned between work and a basketball game.  Take a lap, complain to myself about not bringing running shoes.  Take another lap, feel the cold seep inside the thin coat I wore.  Repeat.  But then something funny happened; I stopped caring about the cold and started checking the progress of my steps.  On a track there’s no mystery: 400 meters any way you look at it, repeat eight times and you get to 2 miles, which is what I needed to get over the top.  So I stopped whining to myself and got it done, and felt better for having done so.  The darkening sky was beautiful with the full “wolf” moon rising to mock my discomfort, and I smiled and mocked myself too.

      The thing about 10,000 steps is that it isn’t all that much in the big scheme of things.  I recognize it’s the bare minimum and more must be done to be truly fit.  But it’s a promise I made to myself to keep the streak alive for as long as possible, and I’m tired of breaking promises to myself.  So the track workout checked the box for another day – 33 and counting – and I got into the warmth of the gym and watched real athletes compete at a high level.  I used to be on of them, rowing instead of basketball, but an extremely fit, disciplined college athlete.  Then a few decades slip by, work, kids, commitments…  and habits slide with promises unkept, but you forgive yourself and move on.  If my hour on the track in dress shoes told me anything, it’s that I’m less tolerant of excuses I make to myself.  10,000 steps is one small habit on a stack of small habits I’ve been tracking.  Instead of thinking about resolutions and big  transformation, I’m thinking small daily habits and keeping the streak alive another day.  It seems to be getting me where I’d like to go, even if it seems like I’m walking in circles.