First thing this morning, Sky and I ventured into the world of swirling white snow that laid in drifts as far as we could see. It had blown and snarled all night, whistling through the dark, fierce in its cold and its ice.

But as day broke, it was as gorgeous as it was calm and benign and we set out to take stock of it all. More than that, to revel in it like children exploring something so awesome that is sets the mind afire and makes everything possible.

As we zigzagged through the virgin white terrain–everything pure and unmarred–it was as if the landscape was a canvas upon which I could write my thoughts. My dreams. My aspirations. I truly felt as if God was challenging me to write on the snow, something worthy of the immense beauty he laid before me.

What would I write?

How deep could I probe inside of my mind, my emotions, to identify a challenge worthy of this?

Was I worthy of it all?

Could I rise to another level? Raise the bar on myself? Be worthy of the majesty of the winter morning?

At times, my mind wandered away from the profound to the simple joy of a sweet and delighted Golden Retriever prancing, diving and rolling through the white kingdom. Just watching him revel in the joy of his reckless abandon, was more than enough. Far more.

But in each instance, I would wander back in my thoughts to the challenge the blank landscape presented me. It felt highly personal but perhaps it is a universal question:

When challenged by the opportunity to think and plan anew, what will we scrawl in the snow?

In business–as in all of the complexities of life–decision-making is a fuzzy logic process. You think through the pros and cons, the upside and downsides, the good, the bad and the evil. And you are often left in the fog of conflicting input, uncertain of the direction you should take. The choice you should make.

In the end, we do have to decide: we must make a decision. Conventional wisdom holds that it is wise to take plenty of time, to absorb and consider all of the issues, to contemplate, to  reflect and to avoid hasty decisions at all costs. In effect, to remain floating upside down in the grey area for as long we need.

But the truth is, the longer we dwell along the continuum of thought that leads to a decision, the longer we postpone the entry into the no man’s land of black and white where we must commit ourselves on one side of the issue or another. Expose ourselves to failure. To miscalculation. To losses, damages and all manner of consequences.

What we may fail to see as we hover over the black and white, is that the decision waiting to be made can also lead to an intelligent course of action, the elimination of a threat, a powerful mid-course correction. It may well be one of a long series of connected decisions that keeps our companies strong and decisive competitors in the always-challenging marketplace.

In reality, we must transition from the grey to the harsh reality of decision-making. And once we do, once we get to the finality and totality of the black and white, we can move forward–imperfectly and misdirected perhaps–but we decide. We act. We accept the responsibility and the exhilaration of leadership.

We are not lost in the land of the black and white. We refuse to be.

Whenever new lovers kiss for the first time, when they link their arms and clink champagne flutes and then waltz off to bed to get lost in each other, they may be different couple by couple in a zillion ways but one thing runs like a thread through them all: they are absolutely certain that this love, this passion, this week-old intensity, will last forever. Will burn so fiery hot it will give the sun a run for its money.

At the moment of ignition, this is not a hope. It is a deeply held belief. It seems that absolutely nothing in all of the heavens and earth can detract in any way from the magnetic force field that makes it near impossible to be apart for a day, an hour, a minute. This love, this romance, appears to be one for the books. Written in stone.

And then fissures suddenly appear in what was only yesterday rock solid. They come out of left field, often for no reason, the way a summer storm suddenly washes away a perfect day at the beach. We don’t know why but the love that landed unexpectedly in our lives has begun to drift away. This is the denial stage, where we see it as just a bad mood, a off day, an aberration of some sort. But if we look up and are honest with ourselves, we see a cloud lingering over the scene that we swore was perfect and invincible just months before.

The great mysteries in all of this extraordinary human drama is where did the love come from and now, sadly, where did it go? Once we love another with volcanic intensity, can that deepest of emotions truly be distinguished? Does it die? Is it different for the other party? Did they share the same level of intensity? Do they mourn the loss or are they onto another magic carpet ride?

Of course, true love can endure for life. And it is a joy and a blessing like none other. But when the magic turns to misery–as it does for us all at some time in our lives — the art of survival is the life raft back to new love and happiness.

And I believe that art requires a single conviction, that holds true in all aspects of life:

“I believe in myself. I know not what life has in store for me but I do know

that I have the smarts and the strength to prevail regardless. No one can

bring me down. It is all just part of the ups and downs i can navigate when

the champagne is sparkling and equally when it goes flat.”

Actually, I have hardly any idea of the science Albert knew and even invented.  Sure I understand the broad outlines of relativity, but only in the same way that I have a crude and naïve understanding of how Hendrix turned guitars into chaotic and passionate love affairs.

But I believe that I do know the most important thing Einstein knew: that our world, our universe, our lives–none of it is what it appears to be. Another dimension, perhaps an infinite series of dimensions, exists above and beyond the tangible and linear movie that goes on in front of our small and believing eyes.

The patent clerk who had the greatest epiphany in the history of life put it all in a neat little five character equation and then walked away, leaving the world tilted upside its head:

• Time bends like a rubber band
• Speed has limits, and when it reaches the max it turns everything into stone
• Speed and time are related
• We can go back in time, providing we can race forward fast enough to catch up with the past

Forget my amateur summary of all of this. If life isn’t what it appears to be when we are in the midst of the show, how do we know:

• If we are really successful or abysmal failures
• What love means and whether it can defy the gravity of changing human attraction and superficiality
• What dreams mean or if they are actually life itself posing as a thing you do while you’re sleeping
• If our companies are achieving anything beyond our own limited dreams for them
• Why we let time march on, taking our lives with it–or if there is anything we can do about this. Is there?

Only if we truly accept the fact that what we know pales in comparison to what we haven’t a clue of, then are we fueled up for a life of discovery that is at the same time dangerously unpredictable and wildly exhilarating.

The fact is, the wisest man in history knew that we all know hardly anything at all…and half of it is wrong.

That was his gift to all of us.

It was just about a year and a half ago when my dear, sweet, polar bear of a golden retriever Blue died. I cried for a month. I couldn’t bare being in the house without him. I dreaded opening the door on my return without his joyous greeting. Carol and I went to a hotel to get a break from it all. We cried there instead.

I shared this all with you. And if you recall I swore I would never get another dog again, to spare myself the pain. And then within a month, Carol and I visited a breeder, our eyes turned to a tiny Golden with a blue ribbon around his neck, we swooped him up in our arms, named him Sky and brought him home.

He has changed my life and taught me an enduring lesson. Every morning we leave the house for a mini hike. He roars out of the door and throws himself out into the woods, sailing over rocks, chasing deer, chewing branches and when there is ice or snow on the ground (such as this morning), laying down and sliding as far as the momentum will take him. Everything is an adventure, a joy, a miracle to him (as it should be to all of us).

I didn’t know of Sky 16 months ago. Now I don’t understand how I could live without him. Only dog lovers would get this but he is far from a “dog.” Like Blue and Quincy before him, they are family members. And to me, Sky is even more than that. I am a father of sons, whom I adore. They have moved on to lives of their own and though we remain very, very close, they are no longer the little boys who followed dad’s every move with wide-eyed amazement.

When I don my boots, Sky wants to don his. When I stand on a boulder, Sky stands next to me, scanning the woods the way I do. When I dive in the pool, Sky launches himself into the air, landing by my side, wanting to swim, swim, swim together. I have a little boy again. I am teaching him about life. He is reminding me about the passion and friendship that are so precious in life.

At night, after our final walk under the moon, he is tired but resists the bed, wanting to stay with Carol and I, to fight the exhaustion, to be close to us. I sense it and it saddens me to say goodnight, except for the fact that I know he will fly into my arms once again in the morning. And I will light up from the pure and unrestricted innocent love he hands out. He is

amazing!

And of all that he has taught me, most important is to never let fear stop you from moving on to love again. The heart is capable of almost everything we ask of it.