Tag: Perspective

The System Isn’t Sacred

Yesterday I had to admit something I didn’t want to.

The Young Napoleon Project wasn’t going to become the project I had spent the last ten years imagining.

That was surprisingly hard to accept.

Not because the project was failing.

But because the picture I had carried in my head for a decade wasn’t real anymore.

For years I had envisioned every detail of this project. I had planned the action tracking, the scoreboards, the data collection, the documentation, and even redundancies for the redundancies because I wanted to capture everything. I wanted complete control over the process.

Then I finally launched the project.

And after six weeks of actually living it, I realized something I never could have learned while planning it.

It was too much.

Not because I wasn’t willing to work hard.

Because I had built a system that demanded so much attention that it was beginning to compete with the very life it was supposed to support.

Somewhere along the way, I realized I was spending so much time documenting the project…

that I wasn’t actually living it.

So I started removing things.

I eliminated redundant tracking.

I simplified my systems.

I stopped documenting the same information in multiple places.

Not because those things were bad ideas.

Because they were getting in the way of the things that mattered most.

They were taking time away from my writing.

They were taking time away from the fitness goals I had allowed to slip.

They were taking time away from being present with my family.

Making those changes should have been easy.

Instead, it felt like I was giving something up.

The strange thing about plans is that after we’ve lived with them long enough, they stop feeling like plans.

They start feeling like promises.

We convince ourselves that success isn’t simply reaching the destination.

Success becomes following the exact route we imagined.

That’s where we get ourselves into trouble.

We become so committed to the process that we forget why we created it in the first place.

Businesses can’t cling to outdated processes simply because they’re familiar.

Parents constantly adjust routines as their children grow.

Travel plans change.

Careers change.

Life changes.

The people who continue moving forward aren’t the ones who never change their plans.

They’re the ones willing to change them when reality demands it.

For a while, I thought abandoning parts of my original plan meant admitting I had been wrong.

Now I think the opposite.

Those ten years weren’t wasted.

They gave me the vision.

But once the project became real, reality became a better teacher than imagination.

The system was never the project.

The scoreboards weren’t the project.

The trackers weren’t the project.

The spreadsheets weren’t the project.

Those things were simply tools meant to help me become the person I wanted to become.

And when the tools stopped serving that purpose…

They needed to change.

Six weeks ago I started this project with what I believed was the perfect blueprint.

Less than two months later, much of that blueprint no longer exists.

The dream does.

I chose the project over the systems.

I chose writing over documenting.

I chose to make room for my health instead of protecting routines that were no longer helping me.

For ten years I thought protecting the blueprint meant protecting the dream.

I finally realized they aren’t the same thing.

The blueprint can change.

The dream doesn’t have to.

Continue the Journey:

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A Life, Not a Collection of Parts

It’s easy to divide life into separate categories—work, family, health, hobbies—but the most fulfilling life isn’t built by keeping those pieces apart. It’s built by learning how they fit together.

I Finally Stopped Waiting to Feel Motivated

Waiting for motivation kept me standing still for years. Progress finally began when I stopped chasing the perfect feeling and simply started doing the work.

The Coach Can’t Do the Work

The right tools, the right systems, and the right coach can all help you move forward. But in the end, no one else can do the work that only you can do.

The Coach Can’t Do The Work

I am going to be starting a personal training program in the next week or so, and yesterday I had my first call with my trainer. Being honest, I was nervous. I had never worked with a personal trainer before, but the conversation was great and also a little unexpected. Instead of just talking about exercises and nutrition, we talked about my goals, the habits I want to build, the mental aspect of getting healthier, my history with weight, and what I hope to achieve in the future.

As exciting as the call was, and as motivated as I am to work with this trainer, I’m still the one who has to put in the work. That’s something I’ve struggled with my whole life when it comes to my health.

The trainer can write my workouts, answer my questions, help keep me accountable, and encourage me when I’m frustrated. But he can’t lift the weights for me. He can’t choose what I eat every day. He can’t walk the steps I need to walk. He can’t say no to the junk food or turn off the TV so I can go work out. He can be a guide, but I still have to choose to follow.

I’ve done it before. In what feels like a past life, I lost 170 pounds. I was determined. I was resilient. Then I wasn’t. Some of the weight came back, and with it came frustration and disappointment.

Since then, I’ve read books about motivation and discipline. I’ve listened to podcasts. I’ve watched countless videos. I know what it takes to get back to where I want to be.

Information has never been the problem.

Turning that information into action has.

Often we think success comes from the tools we use along the way. The right pen or computer will help us write more. The right planner will keep us organized. The right app will keep us on task. Maybe the right coach will finally help us reach our goals.

Those things absolutely help.

They make the path clearer.

But they can’t walk it for us.

This project has never been about finally discovering the secret that erased years of failure. There isn’t one.

The progress I’ve made has come from doing the work day after day. From refusing to quit when things got hard. From not accepting defeat when I fell behind. From allowing the process to evolve instead of abandoning it because I was too stubborn to change.

The tools I’ve chosen have helped me get this far, but they aren’t the reason I’m here.

This trainer will be no different.

He gets to be on my team. He gets to challenge me, encourage me, and help me decide what I need to do to reach my goals.

But I still have to do the work.

The tools you use can help you write. They can help you stay organized. They can help you stay on task.

But if you don’t do the work, the tools can’t do it for you.

A coach, a trainer, or an accountability partner can all cheer you on. They can believe in you, even on the days you don’t believe in yourself.

But when it’s time to do the work…

You’re the one who has to do it.

And when you do, you’ll have something no one can ever take away from you:

The satisfaction of knowing you earned it.

Continue the Journey:

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  • I Finally Stopped Waiting to Feel Motivated
    Motivation may get you started, but lasting change comes from taking action even when you don’t feel like it.
  • Stay in the Game
    Progress belongs to those who refuse to quit. Once you’ve committed to the journey, the work still has to be done one day at a time.
  • Every Opportunity Begins With Risk
    Hiring a coach, starting a new program, or chasing a goal all begin with uncertainty. The next step is doing the work that turns opportunity into progress.

Stay In The Game

Last night was poker night with the Papa Pandas. Ten of us showed up for a Texas Hold ‘Em tournament. On the opening hand I made two pair and won a large pot. Then I didn’t win another hand for a very long time.

Eventually the table had dwindled down to four players, and my dwindling stack was the smallest of them all. If you had taken a poll around the table, I probably wouldn’t have been the favorite to come out on top.

But I stayed patient. I played my game, bet when I thought the odds were in my favor, and took it one hand at a time. I eliminated one player, then another, and eventually it was just me and the chip leader. I won a couple of smaller pots to even things up before catching an outside straight on the river and moving all in. He called with two pair, and I walked away the winner.

I didn’t win because I played every hand perfectly. I folded hands that would have become winners and played a few that I probably shouldn’t have. I won because I stayed patient and stayed in the game. The cards certainly helped, but they couldn’t have helped me if I had already given up.

It made me wonder about all the other things I’ve quit simply because I got behind. How many times have I stopped writing because the words wouldn’t come? Quit exercising because the scale didn’t move? Walked away from a sport because I wasn’t getting playing time? Given up because things simply became too hard? Not because I was destined to fail, but because success didn’t seem likely, and I mistook where I was for where I was going to finish.

Yesterday I wrote that seizing opportunity requires us to accept uncertainty before we can enjoy the reward. Today I’m realizing that’s only half the story.

Sometimes taking the risk isn’t enough. Sometimes the reward only comes because we stay around long enough for it to arrive.

If you quit trying to lose weight every time the scale goes up or refuses to move, you’ll never reach your goal.

If you abandon every project because the results aren’t immediate, you’ll never finish anything meaningful.

If you give up on every dream because reality doesn’t match the picture in your head, you’ll never become the person you hoped to be.

It won’t be because you weren’t talented enough or capable of working hard enough. It’ll be because you didn’t give yourself—or your dream—the time it needed.

Last night I happened to win the poker tournament. But that’s not what I’ll remember.

I’ll remember looking down at the smallest stack at the table and realizing that as long as I still had chips in front of me, the story wasn’t over.

Sometimes the only thing you can do is stay in the game long enough to find out how the story ends.

Continue the Journey:

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Every Opportunity Begins With Risk

This week I took a risk and put myself out there. I saw an opportunity worth pursuing, and despite my nervousness and anxiety, I sent the message. I asked the question, and I was rewarded for taking that chance. It wasn’t luck. It was action in the face of uncertainty.

We’ve all faced uncomfortable moments. Moments where something worth having sat directly across from our own insecurities and doubts. We imagine being ignored, turned down, or told no. We worry that we’re imposing on someone else or putting them in an uncomfortable position. In those moments, the opportunity may exist, but it isn’t real because we haven’t yet made the decision to pursue it.

Then comes the decision. You put yourself out there. You make yourself vulnerable. You expose yourself to rejection or awkwardness. Sometimes you’re rewarded with acceptance, and afterward you wonder why you waited so long. It wasn’t nearly as big of a deal as you had made it out to be. Then another thought creeps in: how many other opportunities have you missed simply because you weren’t willing to accept a few moments of discomfort while waiting to see what might happen?

I think about my kids. They don’t see the risk; they only see the reward. When Brooks walked into his first karate class, he didn’t know if he would like it. He was nervous. He didn’t know anyone. But if he had never walked through those doors, he never would have discovered something he genuinely enjoys. Children are often willing to try first and worry later. As I wrote in Brooks’s First Tae Kwon Do Class, the hardest part wasn’t earning the belt—it was walking through the door for the very first time. As we get older—even by the time we’re Brooks’ age—that begins to change. Doubt slowly creeps in. Our confidence starts giving way to thoughts about what other people might think if we fail or embarrass ourselves. The older we get and the more rejection we experience, the easier it becomes to focus on the opportunities we’ve missed instead of the ones we’ve seized.

As I thought about it, I realized how many of the best parts of my life began with accepting that same risk. Going back to school for my bachelor’s degree, and later my master’s, while working full-time and starting a family. Coaching Brooks’ baseball team. Walking into my first Papa Pandas meeting. Starting this blog one more time after nearly a decade of false starts. None of those moments felt comfortable beforehand. Every one of them was worth it afterward.

Every opportunity asks us to take a risk before we can enjoy the reward. The hardest part isn’t saying yes to the opportunity—it’s saying yes to the uncertainty that comes before it. As I shared in I Finally Stopped Waiting to Feel Motivated, waiting until we feel ready often means waiting forever. Growth rarely begins with confidence; it begins with the decision to act anyway.

Looking back, I’m far more grateful for the opportunities I experienced because I was willing to accept the risk than I am bothered by the times I was rejected. Because you can’t reap the reward without first accepting the risk.

Continue the Journey:

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Lunch With Dad

Earlier this week my mom asked if there was a day she could bring Brooks to have lunch with me at work. It’s something we’ve done every once in a while over the last couple of years, and yesterday happened to be that day.

They picked up sandwiches from our favorite deli and headed down to the cafeteria before letting me know they were there. I went down to meet them, and when I walked in Brooks got so excited and motioned me to the empty seat next to him. He was already devouring his sandwich, knowing he had fruit snacks waiting for him at the end.

The three of us finished our sandwiches before heading back upstairs to my office. Brooks admired his and Joseph’s artwork hanging on my wall, spun around in my office chair, put on my headset for a picture, and asked if he could visit the treasure box we keep for our pediatric patients. We walked over there, and he picked out a little toy for himself, one for his brother, and grabbed a couple of stickers before we headed back toward the front of the building. I gave them both a hug, watched them walk back to the car, and then headed inside to get back to work.

Watching Brooks at the office reminded me of when I was his age.

Occasionally my mom would bring me to work with her. She worked in the personnel office, and I would sit at the front desk drawing pictures. Whenever someone came in, I got to buzz them into the back office. When lunchtime rolled around, we would head to the very same cafeteria Brooks ate in yesterday and order hamburgers from the grill.

I felt so important sitting at the front desk. So popular walking around the office with everyone knowing my name. I got to see where my mom worked and be a part of her world.

Going to work with my dad was a very different experience.

He was a flooring installer, and for ten dollars an hour, a package of gas station donuts for breakfast, and McDonald’s for lunch, I got a firsthand lesson in what hard physical work really looked like. With Dad, I came home sore and exhausted with a new appreciation for hard work. With Mom, I came home feeling like I had spent the day on an adventure into the grown-up world.

Looking back, I’m grateful I got to experience both. My dad showed me what hard work looked like. My mom invited me into the world she stepped into every day. Those experiences were different, but they both helped shape the person I became.

It’s funny how life comes full circle.

My mom gave me a glimpse into her world away from home, and now I get to do the same for Brooks. As kids, we’re lucky enough to have experiences like these given to us. As parents, we get the opportunity to create them for our own children.

Yesterday I watched Brooks walk the same halls, sit in the same cafeteria, and light up with the same excitement I felt when I was his age.

Maybe Brooks will remember eating sandwiches in the cafeteria. I remember the hamburgers.

And maybe one day he’ll bring one of his own children to work.

If he does, I think he’ll understand exactly why yesterday mattered.

Continue the Journey:

  • Donuts With Dad — Sometimes the smallest traditions become the memories our children carry the longest.
  • The Zoo With Dad — Ordinary afternoons often become the stories we remember years later.
  • Copying Pokémon Cards — Watching Brooks enjoy something I once loved reminded me how childhood has a way of coming full circle.