I drive a ten year old Honda CR-V. We paid cash for it when we bought it, and it’s held up remarkably well, still runs and looks great. It’s probably safe to say that I’ll be driving it until the engine drops out or the wheels fall off. In fact, I recently replaced the radio so that I could have BlueTooth/iPhone integration in my pre-smartphone car. I could afford to pay cash right now for a new car, however I choose not to because – as I mentioned – the Honda runs just fine. (To be clear, I believe there’s nothing wrong with having a new car or nice things.)

However, there are times when I’ve felt tempted to fork over the money for a new car, not because I need one but because of a little voice – a narrative – playing in the back of my head. It says something like,

1. “Did you see the way that guy in the BMW looked at you with contempt as he passed you? He’s clearly more important than you are. Just look at his car!”

or

2. “If your clients see you driving up in a ten year old car, will they trust that you are professionally competent and successful?”

or

3. “You’ve worked hard and built something cool. You deserve it!”

I don’t believe any of those narratives. (If I did, I’d have already taken the bait and bought a car.) Still, they occasionally emerge from the depths of my subconscious and pester me in the areas I’m most vulnerable. Namely,

1. Others won’t respect the work that I do or my professionalism.
2. I will somehow be found out or discovered to be the man behind the curtain rather than the Great Oz my clients expect me to be.
3. Because of my focus, I will miss out on the fruits of my labor.

I share this story because I also see these same dynamics playing out in the workplace. Certain narratives become rooted in everyday experience, and if we’re not careful, they can begin to define our engagement. We get carried along by the work, the expectations of others, or the career path that was plotted for us by our first manager rather than willfully stepping back and regularly asking “is this really true, or am I living someone else’s life? Am I following my own course, or someone else’s?”

(I’ve also seen people get trapped by the same false narratives that play in my head, regarding their car, house, etc., and they end up working harder and longer for things that have already lost their luster.)

Listen, friends: life, creativity, art and brilliant work are all dependent on centering our lives on the things that matter, making progress daily, and disregarding the voices in our head that want to derail us. We don’t have time to play games. There’s too much critical work to do.

Don’t get derailed by narratives and the illusory expectations of others. Build your life around what really matters, and just focus on doing your work.

You’re doing it again. Maybe even right now.

Habit and comfort can easily infiltrate your routine, and before you know it you are doing everything but the activities that will help you add value through your work. We seek comfort when we are faced with uncertainty or doubt, fear, or a seemingly challenging barrier. Unfortunately, though it’s biological instinct, comfort is the last thing we should be grasping for.

Our grasp for comfort isn’t always about lounging around or avoiding our responsibilities. Sometimes it comes in the form of mindless web surfing, busywork, or habitual routines that reinforce our sense of certainty and stability. Sometimes these habits can become routines, which become systems, which eventually become ruts. Once we’re in a rut, it can be challenging to identify how we got there and how to get out.

You cannot pursue greatness and comfort at the same time. (click to Tweet)

I’ve spent the last several months finishing up my new book (which is why I’ve not been posting here as much). Throughout the book writing process, I’ve struggled continuously with the Ping (mostly in the form of social media, e-mail, and sidetrack research), and attempted as best I could to stay focused on my objectives, plodding in the direction of my uncertainty, and trying to add as much value as possible each day.

In order to get rid of the obsessive pursuit of comfort, it’s necessary to limit the ways it can crop up. While these small comfort-giving routines may provide temporary relief from the fear of uncertainty, they slowly rob us of a life of contribution. You cannot pursue greatness and comfort at the same time. You may experience comfort along the way, but it cannot be your objective if you want to do great work.

So…out of genuine curiosity…what are your “comfort routines” or pacifiers that you default to when you are facing a challenge? Please share in the comments below.

Unfortunately, “No” can be more than just a word, it can also be a lifestyle. When our default posture toward anything unknown is to shrink back, hover around the perimeter, or generally opt-out, we are refusing the best of what life offers.

This is not only a quality of life issue. “No” affects our creative performance as well. When our inherent position is skepticism or posturing, we stop looking for possibilities and train our mind to look for why not? instead of asking why?

There are many reasons this may happen:

Fear of harm. We make seemingly wise, but subversive pacts with our self to stay safe and sound, but in so doing we miss the whole point of life. The saddest part of all of it is that the safety we seek is most often an illusion anyway. Total safety is rarely a viable option. Are you gravitating toward the safest option?

Identity protection. We would rather live with the illusion of invulnerability than suffer a possible failure. We don’t stretch so that we never have to know our true limits. (With self-awareness comes the ability to intelligently take risks and stretch to the limit of our true abilities. Self-aware people don’t need to tell themselves bedtime stories.) Are you protecting the stranger?

Love of Comfort. This grows stronger in proportion to success, which makes it difficult to tackle. The more we have to protect, the less we may be willing to try new things. When we default to the comfortable choice, we often abdicate our great contribution. Are you gravitating toward comfort at the expense of great work?

Ego. When we say “yes” we hand over some measure of control. We are submitting to a new agenda, and even if it’s one of our own choosing, we are in some way allowing the potential for things out of our immediate influence to invade our world. “No” is sometimes a form of ego, or wanting to impose our will on the world. “Yes” is a move from control to influence. Is your ego standing in the way?

Love. Yes, we may love someone or something so much that, in our attempt to protect it/them we say “no” on their behalf. The odd thing is that the most loving thing is sometimes to say “yes” even when it means surrendering our own desire/wishes. Is your love of someone/something keeping you from yes?

Creativity always begins with a yes. To create is to first say yes, then sort things out on the other side. It is to first say “yes” to the risk, then to embrace it, then to overcome it. All creations are not successful, but every act of creating begins with an act of bravery. I’ve come to treat the very act of saying “yes” as a successful outcome. If I do this enough times in a row, I know that I will eventually make something worthwhile.

Are you living your life with a posture of yes?

For GenX and Y, it was the anthem song of childhood.

“You can do anything you want to do!”

We heard it from teachers, parents, coaches, and others who wanted to ensure that we didn’t suffer – even for a minute – from a lack of self-esteem. We all knew, deep down, that it was untrue. We failed at a lot of things, and most of us understood that – no matter how hard we tried – we weren’t destined to become heavyweight boxing champion of the world or GI Joe.

Still, these words had a profound effect on us. Rather than getting guidance to help us understand our real strengths and weaknesses, many of us had to venture awkwardly into our teen years still trying to discern where we should put our efforts. For some, this extended into our twenties, or even beyond.

I had an interaction the other day with someone who was struggling with knowing which direction to go. I had the sense that she was paralyzed by the possibility of “getting it wrong”. After all, if she was fully equipped to do anything she wanted to do, what if she chose the wrong path? What if she chose the wrong “purpose” for her life? Because she was afraid of doing the wrong thing, she wasn’t doing anything. She was in a state of stasis, waiting for some kind of clarity.

Clarity results from action. We uncover the truth as we try, succeed, fail, and learn. Bolts of lightning are wonderful, but the chance of being struck by one is very slim. If we want to find our voice and have an impact, we need to begin to act, today, in small ways.

A list of things for which you and I are profoundly unqualified:
Determining our legacy. (This will be backward engineered after we are already fertilizing daisies.)
Choosing our times. (We must deal with the times we are handed.)
Making others like our work. (You can’t do it. You will always have people who hate it.)
Ensuring safety. (No matter how hard you try, there is no such thing as perfect safety.)

A list of things for which you and I are qualified:
Making something, now.
Contributing value, now.
Speaking up.
Learning something new every day.
Taking small risks instead of retreating.
Refusing to allow the opinion of others to control our life.
Refusing to ignore wise advice from others.
Emptying ourselves each day.

The key to finding your voice is to begin to take small risks to express yourself each day. Don’t try to be someone else, and don’t fall into the trap of taking shortcuts that ultimately cost you more than you gain. It is a kind of poverty to spend your life chasing the limelight.

We need to do the things for which we are qualified, and ignore the things for which we are not.

In my recent talk at TEDx Xavier University, I shared an overview of how building practices into your life to support your creative process can make you more effective on a daily basis. I deeply believe that structure, habit, and an understanding of why is critical to being prolific, brilliant, and healthy over the long-term.

There was a point several years ago – and I can almost pinpoint it at right around my 33rd birthday – when I realized that if I don’t begin to treat my life as precious, it will be over before I have time to blink. Days will pass like one long run-on sentence, and soon I’ll be looking back wondering what I really did with all of them. It’s never too late to change course, but the new vector must begin today. Now. With a choice.

Every vector has (1) a starting point, (2) a velocity, and (3) a direction. Your starting point is easy; it’s where you are. The velocity and direction, however, are a little more tricky to uncover.

Yesterday I took my son to a local laser tag place as a reward for accomplishing a few school-related goals. On the way, out of the blue, I asked him what he thought the second most important thing is if he wants to be successful.

He replied, “Work hard.”

Hmm…interesting. I was curious, so I asked, “OK…what’s the most important thing?”

He thought for a half second and replied, “Find an interesting problem to work on that will help other people.”

My heart jumped. I was so proud of the kid. And it was a finger in my own chest too. I can get so busy working hard that I forget that the reason I’m here is to serve others; to solve problems and contribute something to the world around me.

The beginning of the vector is find a problem to solve that adds value to others. The velocity is work hard.

Then, it’s all about emptying yourself each day. Getting it out of you. And in the end…the hope is… to die without regret… and empty.

If you hustle – all out, fully hustle – and you succeed, then you gain the satisfaction of a job well done. If you hustle and fail, you never have to worry about what might have been if you’d given everything.

If you slack off, you might get lucky and still succeed, but there’s little satisfaction other than the temporary thrill of escaping with your life. If you slack off and fail, you have to live forever with not knowing what you were truly capable of.

Hustling is the best insurance policy against lifelong regret.

Reality trumps normalcy.

And so life is art, and the unveiling of the ineffable. This is why art moves us – it’s not so much the revelation of something new, a new ground we must take, as it is a return to things we already deeply know.

Art is, then, a kind of homecoming. But art that, for the sake of the artist’s ego, tries to take us to a foreign place for the sake of isolating and belittling our relative abilities, is creative narcissism. It doesn’t serve us, it robs from us.

The artist is a servant. A pathfinder. 

Experience 1
Yesterday was Mother’s Day here in the US, and the kids and I took my wife to a ”fancy restaurant” (by the kids’ definition, this means that they have to wear a shirt with a collar) for brunch. We went with another couple and their son, and everyone had a fantastic time. As brunches go, this one was on the more expensive side for us, clocking in at about $35 per adult and $15 per child, but it was an event so we considered the price worth it. (As a family of five, ”dining out” for us normally means going to Chipotle.)

The food was good. Our server was very attentive.The bill came, and we noticed that in addition to the $35/person buffet, we’d also been charged on a per item basis (1) $5/cup for coffee x2 and (2) $2.75/glass for drinks x5.

It isn’t about the money. We’d already made the decision to spend a lot of it. An extra $25 is not a huge deal. However, it was a violation of our expectations. We’d assumed – wrongly – that our buffet included coffee and juice because of our past experience (at much less expensive buffets).

Experience 2
A few weeks ago my wife and I were out on a date. We had a restaurant in mind, but by the time we got around to finalizing plans, there was no time left to make a reservation. As a result, we head out in search of whatever would hit the spot.

We landed – unexpectedly – at a chain Italian restaurant called Bravo. It was close to our destination, and it looked like we could get in and out quickly. To be frank, our expectations weren’t all that high. We were there for a quick meal.

What followed was one of the coolest experiences we’ve had at a restaurant in a very long time. The server asked if we’d like to try an experimental appetizer that the chef had been working on that day. (Um….sure.) It didn’t blow us away, but it was OK.

A few minutes later, the chef emerged from the kitchen. He wanted to know how we enjoyed the appetizer, and we shared our thoughts. We told him what we liked, what we didn’t, etc. He peppered us with questions for about five minutes, squatting down beside our table and asking how we thought he could improve the dish. My wife and I exchanged glances with each other that indicated, “can you believe this? I can’t believe how passionate this guy is about getting this appetizer right.”

This alone would have been a cool example of passion and attention to detail, but there was more to come. We finished our meals, which were surprisingly delicious, by the way, and our server asked if we would care for dessert. We are not dessert people, but we often toss back and forth what we would “like” to have if we were, and in this case my wife said something about chocolate, but in the end we simply asked for the check.

The chef returned with the server a few minutes later with a special ”made for two” chocolate desert that he’d crafted as a thank you for all of our help. Wow. We were blown away. Neither the appetizer, nor the desert showed up on our (very reasonable) bill.

What I Learned
In example one, we came in prepared to pay a hefty fee for our brunch, but our expectations were violated by little surcharges and we left underwhelmed. In example two , we came in with low expectations and left overwhelmed by the level of attention to detail and service.

It would have taken so little to turn either of these situations the other direction. It was the small stuff that mattered. In the first example, we felt small. We felt like the system was designed to squeeze as much value as possible from the patrons. In the second example, we felt as of we were being treated as special guests even though it was a giant chain restaurant.

There are many opportunities in life and work to short-cut to results. It’s possible that many people won’t even notice these little short-cuts. But eventually they will, and they will talk.

It is absolutely critical that we stay focused on the small stuff in life and work. Our passion and commitment to our craft is shown more in the small stuff than in the big stuff, and that’s also where the cracks will begin to appear.

Lessons: Sweat the small stuff. Commit to the details. Be passionate about your craft. Exceed expectations consistently.

Can you think of an instance in which a person said or did something that completely changed the course of your life for the better?

The other day a friend (and former co-worker) sent me this video along with a note of thanks for having been a “lollipop leader” in her life. It got me thinking about the countless number of people who have had the same impact on me. They’ve led me, and sometimes unknowingly. It’s happened more times than I can count.

Leadership is everyone’s business, and it’s not about a title or organizational role.

It’s about choosing to care enough to act.

It’s about doing and saying the things that everyone else thinks about doing and saying.

It’s about taking arrows on behalf of someone else, and never telling a living soul about it.

It’s about saying hard truths out of compassion for another person face-to-face rather than complaining about them behind their back.

It’s about calling out the beauty you see.

It’s about doing the little things flawlessly every…single…time.

It’s about making others feel larger than life.

Go lead today. Don’t wait for permission. Leadership is everyone’s business.

Your turn: What other attributes of leadership would you add to this list?

OK – I’ll admit it. I nearly cried multiple times while watching the short film Caine’s Arcade. I’m a sucker for the beauty of pure, passionate pursuit. I’m especially prone to leap for joy when I see someone unexpectedly rewarded for their effort. I love a good underdog story.

All of that said, I think that this short film is much more than just a feel-good story. I pulled at least three solid, valuable lessons from this film that I plan to immediately apply to my work.

1. Boredom is more of a statement about the person than the situation. “Hey Caine…want to come spend the summer with me in the back of my barely-trafficked auto parts store?” For most kids this would be summer vacation equivalent of the kiss of death. There was no gaming system. No swimming pool. No television. A perfect excuse for “I’m booooooorrrred.”

But NO. Caine looked around and saw opportunity. Everywhere. Cardboard boxes, packing tape, gadgets and doo-dads. He chose not to be bored. It’s totally a state of mind.

My lesson: If I am bored with my work it is my problem, not the work’s. It is my responsibility to stay interested and forward-looking. Stop whining. The world doesn’t owe you anything.

2. Keep working while the world ignores you. How long was it before Caine had customer #1? How many entrepreneurs or artists would have given up by then, or stopped working at their craft and improving their skills? Caine approached his arcade with craftsmanship and fervor, and that’s what I aspire to do too.

My lesson: Attention is a secondary luxury to the artist focused on craft. It may come, and it may not, but devotion to craft is the one thing I can control.

3. Your craft will cost you something. Did you notice the prizes in the arcade? Caine’s own toys. His vision for his arcade required (demanded!) that he use all of his resources to make it work, and this meant forfeiting his own stuff for the sake of his vision.

My lesson: Ask frequently and answer honestly “am I really putting all of myself into this?” I need to make sure I’m fully backing that which I’m asking others to believe in.

These are just a few things I pulled from this gem of a film. PLEASE add to the list below so that we can all learn from one another. What lesson would you add? Please let us know in the comments.