“Hold the light right there!  Don’t move it!”

–     My dad, Dick Heston, 1933-2002

John Caparulo, one of my favorite comedians, says that for him, “learning to fix things” meant “holding the light for his dad and feeling stupid.”

Conversely, my father had a way of making you feel smart when you held the light.  Unless you moved it.

That’s how I learned to change my own oil.  That’s how I learned to do routine fix-it work on three tractors and two combines.  That’s how I learned to weld.  That’s how I learned “the right way to work a wrench.”  And a shovel.

Granted, the old cars and equipment were easier to fix.  There was room to hold the light.  I could, in fact, change the oil on either of our cars today, but there is no place to hold the light.  They build them so that it’s so difficult to do things yourself that you’re willing to pay someone else to do them.

Life (and work) today is built so that there doesn’t seem to be enough room to hold the light.  It’s too easy to fumble around in the dark, or to get distracted by all the other things you “feel’ while you’re fumbling.

Focus, though, gives us the patience to find room for the light, and the ability to hold it, right there, and to not move it.

I used to feel pretty dumb if I moved the light.  Let’s just say that Dad had a way with words and gestures that facilitated that outcome.  I still feel pretty dumb when I “move the light” because, even though I’m not getting my hands dirty on the farm, the principle still holds true.  Hold the light right there, and don’t move it!

If we can see what we need to do – and only what we need to do – it tends to get done.

“The time to relax is when you don’t have time for it.”

     –       Sydney J. Harris (1917-1986), American journalist

Say, WHAT?

You’re thinking, “But I’m too busy to…”

Busy-ness is the bane of business.  Busy-ness is the productivity sponge — it sucks all the productivity out of your life.  Busy-ness can be an addiction, and step #1 of the 12-step busy-ness addicts recovery program is:  “Don’t wear your busy-ness as a badge of honor.”

(Editor’s Note:  Today’s post, based on my performance of late, falls in the “do as I say, not as I do” category, which makes it particularly timely, even if my only goal is to make a difference for, oh, I don’t know, let’s say……me!)

The three page to-do list, the back-to-back-to-back-to-back calendar.  The missed social events and sunsets / sunrises.

All symptoms of busy-ness.

Find whatever cure works for you, if your goal is to make a difference.  And, while you’re — um, excuse me, I mean while we’re looking for that cure, let’s not “need no steeenking badge” of busy-ness honor.

“Imagine what a harmonious world it could be, if every person, young or old, shared a little of what they are good at doing.”

–     Quincy Jones, b. 1933, American Music Producer

Somewhere along the way, in the past five years, I became one of the “old guys.”  At every meeting table, I was the “most experienced.”  (That sounds better.  We’ll go with it…)

In my current day job, I am exposed to and get to lead or work alongside of some of the most amazing young talent that exists in commerce today, let alone in the banking industry.  Youth and talent.  Impressive, sometimes awe-inspiring stuff.

For some reason, this week I was reminded of a time when the classes of ’79-’82 would go back home to Fairfield, IA Thanksgiving weekend, and play the then-current high school basketball team in an “exhibition game.”  We were in our late twenties, early thirties maybe — and we beat ’em every year.  “Old age and trickery,” we’d say, “beats youth and talent every time.”

Except for when it doesn’t.  Except for when “experience” and youth come together.  It’s magical.

As we showed our wares to a couple dozen bankers this week, and as I served in my role as host of the two-day extravaganza, I found myself relishing in the introduction of the young guns, and thoroughly enjoying watching them perform.

And I realized that they make a difference for this “more experienced” exec, and I hope the converse is true, as well.

“Sometimes I lie awake at night and wonder, “Where have I gone wrong?”  Then a voice says to me, “This is going to take more than one night.”

–     Charles M. Schulz (1922-2000), creator of the “Peanuts” cartoon series

I can see Charlie Brown saying the same thing.  Especially on a night like Schulz describes.

We all have them.  For difference makers, perhaps the question isn’t one of wrong or right, perhaps it is one of “how?”

The urge to ask “Why?” has dominated the DD over the years, but in matters of course correction, assuming we’ve synched on that important directional consideration, the forward-looking question of “How can I get it right?” may make a difference.

“What?” is usually the easiest question to answer — after all it’s what the education system drums in to us — but it’s rarely a focus point because there can often be multiple “whats.”  Instead, “How?” questions begin to give us options, ideas, comparisons and therein lies the focus factors we need to move.  Forward. 

“When you write down your thoughts you automatically focus your full attention on them.  Few, if any of us can write one thought and think another at the same time.  Thus a pencil and paper make excellent concentration tools.”

–     Michael Leboeuf, American Business Author and Professor, University of New Orleans

For me, it’s a Pentel 0.7 mm pen and a Levenger pad or journal.  But Leboeuf’s point is rock solid even if you use a #2 pencil and a scrap of paper from the trash can.

Writing down our thoughts is cathartic.  It’s unveiling.  It’s of great value, whether you’re trying to get in touch with your own inner workings or to solve a problem that is completely outside of your realm.

Why?

Lots of reasons, but focus is near the top of the list.

Focus can be hard to find in these times, and if a piece of paper and a writing device is what it takes to find it, ain’t it worth a try?

It might well make a difference.

“Education is the methodical creation of the habit of thinking.”

–     Ernest Dimnet (1866-1954), French author

The author of “The Art of Thinking,” Dimnet clearly shows a glimpse of the science behind it here.

A big part of making a difference is having time — making time (not finding it) to think.

So much of today’s culture and society, our careers and our lives is built around reacting.  These days, is seems that thinking is shoved to the sidelines of our life, or worse, it’s derided as being slow or too methodical.

I like speed, and thrive on it when it’s called for.

Lately, though, I have been mourning a dearth of thinking time — and worry that education is suffering as a result.

Difference makers learn, relentlessly and endlessly.

If that means we mush methodically create the habit of — and by definition the time, space and inclination for — thinking then isn’t that what we’re called to do?

“I wear the ring, and I return often…to study the history of my becoming a man.”

–     Pat Conroy, in the opening sentence from his book, “The Lords of Discipline”

To say that I have, for most of my life, been a voracious reader is an understatement.  To say that I have gotten away from it lately — along with many of the other things that have contributed to whatever difference I have historically made, is, sadly, also an understatement.

So, what do difference makers do when confronted with the reality that their “difference maker” is frozen up and that their “give-a-damn” is flat busted?

They study their history.

I think this is going to be a good book.  I just wish to heck I could remember which of my buddies recommended it.

There are times in life that call for moderation — in fact most days, in most areas, do.  There are times in life that call for silent reflection — a monk mode, of sorts (relating to an earlier post here, and the Fast Company article linked therein.)  There are times in life that call for introspection and decisive action.

The fact of the matter is, we don’t really ever know whether this is one time or another.

It’s just now.

It’s just a time.

And in this time, we do the best we can.

Smaller bites.  Clear one item at a time.  Prioritize important over urgent and focus, focus, focus, relentlessly.

Voracity is called for, in terms of the books we read, and the clarity of thought we bring to our attempt to make a difference.

So, too, is balance, and the mixture is worth finding and protecting.

A while back this Fast Company article was forwarded by my friend, John Waupsh.

It couldn’t have come at a better time.

Pace.  Noise.  Clutter.  Static.  Oxygen suckers.  Too prevalent, all of them, in life, business and society.

Monk Mode is one way to find focus.  Clarity.  Peace of mind.  Heck, just peace in general.

I’m still not very good at it.  But I’ve spent the last week or two trying to find a bit more Monk Mode in each day.  Nope.  Not very good at it yet, but as I improve, I bet it helps me make a difference.

“Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a gift and not giving it.”

–     William Arthur Ward, American scholar and writer

Thanksgiving week.

My third favorite holiday, and the only one that we haven’t completely screwed up.

With guests traveling 1357 miles to see us, and with a 26-pound bird awaiting my bacon-apple-cornbread stuffing — it’s just a great week to pause and not just feel gratitude, but to express it.

Bet it makes a difference for everyone involved when we do.

“When you are fitted in to a racing car and you race to win, second or third place is not enough.”

–     Ayrton Senna (1960-1994), Brazilian Formula 1 race driver

The Middle of The Three and I saw our first Formula 1 race today, courtesy of some new friends in the A-U-S.

It was incredibly cool, loud, different and compelling.

I have a new appreciation for the phrase “fitted in to a race car.”  You see, F1 drivers have little spots carved out of the body of the car for their knuckles.  So, their hands are on this little, dinky steering wheel, while they’re zig-zagging through a 3.5 mile course at speeds up to…well, speeds up to really, really fast, going around hairpin turns, etc etc, and their knuckles are fitted in to the race car.  So there’s no wasted space or “drag,” I suppose.

I wonder how that feels for a driver the first time they head out on the track.

I wonder how often we seek out new experiences, and really take the time to soak them in.

The international flavor, the people watching, the incredible noise and speed.  The skill, the risk, the “buzz,” the clothing…

I wonder what I missed.

I wonder what I saw that will help me make a difference.

I wonder why I don’t seek out more new experiences, and I am glad that Wyatt had this one.