“Not everything that counts can be measured, and not everything that can be measured counts.”

–   Albert Einstein

“42.7% of all statistics are made up on the spot.”

–     Larry The Cable Guy

The Cedarburg Mercs were 14-3 last season.  But that’s not what counts.

One of the three losses was to Germantown Blue, which may be the best 9-year-old team in the State o’ Wisconsin.  Leading 3-2 in the bottom of the last inning, the Mercs lost, 4-3 on a triple and a walk-off home run.  In a game with no errors.  By either team.  Played in 1:25.  By nine-year-olds.

Those last four sentence fragments — in this case, they are what counts.

That day, what counted is that the kids realized that not only were they playing baseball, but that they are baseball players.

In that one moment — in the bottom of the last inning — and through the tears and the devastation that 9-year-olds feel when they lose in the bottom of the last inning — the confidence level of 13 kids rose up closer to their potential.  It’s easy to just focus on outcomes, but what we knew that day, as coaches and parents, was that the kids grew.  They got better.  They got “it.”

John Wooden in basketball (Phil Jackson or Mike Krzyzewski for you youngsters).  Vince Lombardi in football (Bill Belichick).  Jack Welch in business.  We all know someone who teaches us that you don’t win games on game day, you win them in practice.  (More on that tomorrow…)

Sometimes, it’s less about the numbers than the things that go in to making them up.  Sometimes, something we can’t influence affects the outcome.  All we can control is what we do in preparing, because that is what dictates how we’ll respond.

Sometimes — and if you’re a manager, leader, department head or anyone with responsibility for others, that sometime is most all the time — the best way to make a difference is by focusing on the process and not the outcome.  Are you measuring what matters?

“Humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less.”

–     Rick Warren, pp. 148 of his book The Purpose Driven Life

Grab a pencil and a sheet of paper.  (I know “pencil and paper” seems sorta Old School today, but just run with me on this one…)

Now, think, “Who do I know that seems to always be thinking of other people?”  “Who in my circle is more focused on the rest of us than on themselves.”  Write their names down on your paper.  Go ahead, trust me on this one…

Once we have our list, it becomes a “to-do” list.  Every day, until we get through the entire list, we write one thank you note, telling each “difference maker” why we appreciate them and their selfless approach to our lives together.

In today’s world, it’s too easy to follow the examples of the touchdown-dancing, self-promoting, power-seeking megalomaniac, especially when we all have a list of better examples to follow right here in our offices, neighborhoods, schools, churches, families and networks.

By the way, before you click over and open your e-mail, note the purpose of the idea here.  “Write a thank you note.”  Not an e-mail.  Not a poke on a page on a social site.  A thank you note.  By hand.  With an envelope, and stamp — the whole shmear.  I know, it seems sorta Old School, but picture yourself at your mailbox, receiving and then opening one of these notes.  These days, it’s too easy to Tweet, Post, Like and Forward,  instead of stopping, thinking, writing and mailing.  That sounds like a lot of work, until we imagine the impact of receiving, opening and reading…

Make a difference today, by acknowledging those who make a difference for us.

“There is more to life than simply increasing its speed.”

–     Mahatma Gandhi

It’s been said that our disappointments usually stem from our expectations and rarely from our circumstances.

True ‘dat!

Ever feel like you’re a microwave dinner in a CrockPot world?  Or, the other way around?

How much happier will we be when we synch up our expectations for the quality of the meal with the process (and ingredients) that go in to cooking it?

There are days when I need me some Totino’s Pizza Rolls.  Those are not the days for which we purchased our Viking cook top.

There are times when we’re making a really special dinner that we’re tempted to use frozen veggies or pre-packaged sauces.  That is not what our guests are expecting.

There are times in business and in life when we want to BE there, we just don’t want to have to GET there.

Maybe if we want to make a difference, faster isn’t always better.

“Take time to deliberate; but when the time for action arrives, stop thinking and go in.”

–     Napoleon Hill

Every now and then, our son, The Middle of “The Three Who Will Not Be Tamed,” comes across one of those Discovery Channel shows featuring a tiger (“My favorite animal, Daddy!) stalking some poor, unsuspecting gazelle until — BAM!  It’s over.

When we see the tiger pounce, we’re amazed by how suddenly it happens, and we forget the stalking.  The planning.  The preparation.  The instinctive build-up.  It’s Mother Nature’s version of the 20-year overnight success.

Stalking, preparing, instinctive reflection and deliberating might take some time, but the beginning of the action — to act — happens in a nanosecond.

Where can you best make a difference if you stop thinking and go in?

“Distraction is the only thing that consoles us from our miseries and yet it is itself the greatest of our miseries.”

–     Blaise Pascal, 17th century French philosopher

About 1987, technology fired a shot across the bow of my ability to focus.  It was then that I got my first cell phone.

About a year ago, Pico Iyer, in an article in the Sunday New York Times, got extremely close to helping me understand why I sometimes feel so disconnected in this age of uber-connectivity.  (Bing or Google “Pico Iyer quiet New York Times” — the link won’t paste here for some reason — perhaps the editors at The Times must have found out about my Romney / Ryan contribution…)

Now, where was I?  Ah, yes!  Pico Iyer…

Iyer cites Nicholas Carr’s book, The Shallows, What The Internet Is Doing To Our Brains (which I found compelling but excruciating to read, perhaps because of what the Internet is doing to my brain), stating that “the average American spends at least eight-and-one-half hours a day in front of a screen.” Iyer also claimed, quite eloquently, that “the children of tomorrow will crave nothing more than freedom, if only for a short while, from all the blinking machines, streaming videos and scrolling headlines that leave them feeling empty and too full all at once.”

“Empty and too full, all at once.”

Them there are some powerful words.

I am reminded of two instances that illustrate the blurring of lines and the pressure we, and all consumers, find placed on our time.

First, when watching a football game on ESPN Classic recently, Wyatt, our then 9-year-old budding quarterback, said, “Daddy, where’s the score?” I said, “They didn’t use to show it all the time, son.” He replied, “Ohhhhhh, ok, Dad. But where are the scores of the other games that should be at the bottom of the screen?” Try explaining to a 9-year-old, or for that matter a 19-year-old that we used to just watch the games and then read the Sunday paper for the results of the other games…

Which brings me to my second example. A good friend of mine, retired a couple years ago.  “How’s retirement?” I asked him shortly after he pulled the chute. “All I know for sure,” he said, “is if the “big” newspaper comes, it must be Sunday!” His point was how cool it was to just live each day for that day.

So, with two Sunday paper references linked to a Sunday paper article, this Sunday I feel like Iyer’s point is that unlike the retiree who’s mind is free of distraction, we’re so under-siege that not knowing what day it is might not be therapeutic.  In fact, it may have destructive potential, unless we can find some quiet.

And quiet, like most things we’re trying to find, is best found by seeking it out consciously, plan-fully and with purpose.

Wherever we find it, quiet is worth locating. Iyer cites The Shallows again, pointing to a series of tests indicating, “after spending time in quiet, rural settings, subjects exhibit greater attentiveness, stronger memory and generally improved cognition. Their brains,” he points out, “become both calmer and sharper.”

Attentive. Improved cognition. Stronger memory. Calm and sharp.

That makes me wonder if we focus on finding some quiet each week, how much easier it will be to make a difference.

“We played like three tons of buzzard puke this afternoon.”

–     Spike Dykes

“Gentlemen, it is better to have died a small boy than to fumble this football.”

–     John Heisman, namesake of college football’s most coveted individual honor

“We didn’t tackle well today, but we made up for it by not blocking.  When you ask me about our team’s execution, let me just say that I am in favor of it.”

–     John McKay (1923-2001)

One need not be colorful to be a head football coach, but it must be helpful.

I love college football, even this year, when my team isn’t very, um, er, well, what’s the word I’m looking for….?  Oh, yes, they’re not very GOOD.

But execution(s), buzzard puke, fumbles and all, if you have to blow three hours on something on an autumn afternoon, college football’s a pretty good place to start.

“Weak people cannot be sincere.”

–     Francois La Rochefocauld (1613-1680)

Hmmmmm.  Perhaps, sincerity isn’t just a show of honesty and integrity.  Perhaps, it’s a show of strength.

It’s not a license to go off all willy-nilly and hurt people’s feelings out of a lack of consideration.  Still, a decent test for us to measure our strength may well be to test our sincerity.

It might be the best way to evaluate those with whom we surround ourselves, too.

So, the next time we need to really count on someone when the chips are down, perhaps it’s the most sincere, not the loudest, brashest or most visible that we should call upon.

“You can blast your way THROUGH mud, but you can’t blast your way OUT of mud.  You have to ease your way out, or you have to get pulled out.”

–     Dick Heston, who passed away ten years ago today, way too early

A second dose of Difference today — a tribute to an Iowa farmer whose approach to the farm plays as well in board rooms as it does in the field.

As Dad pulled up in the pickup to find me atop our old Massey Ferguson 165 tractor, which was buried up to its axles in the mud, he uttered these words.  I found myself sharing them with a prospective client this morning, ten years after Dad left us.  As a tribute to Dad, I figured I’d share them with y’all.

Shift back to circa 1973 or so.  Tractor in mud.  Me on tractor.  Mud flying everywhere.  Tractor not moving.

He told me to shut down the engine.  Then, we headed back to the barn to get another tractor.  I was gonna need to be pulled out of this one.

Sometimes, in business, we see some “mud” up ahead, in the form of a precarious deal, a soft market, a customer who’s slow to pay — anything that looks like we might get stuck.  Worried that we might not make it through, it’s tempting to ease off the throttle and slow down.  As I learned that day on the Massey — once we lose momentum, we’re done.

What about before that point, though?  What about when we see the “mud” ahead, in our path?  Well, we might be able to slow down and choose a different course.  Negotiate terms.  Hedge a market bet.  Shift strategy to take risk out of the deal or the business.  We might be able to avoid getting stuck at all.

There are times, though, as Dad pointed out, that a different course is just not an option.  And, if forward is our only choice, then we have to blast through the mud.

Now, if you’re already stuck, and you’re not all the way up to your axles, first try to ease your way out.  You don’t have any momentum, so “full throttle” is not your friend.  Finesse is called for if you’re stuck.  You gotta give the tires a chance to take hold.

It won’t take long to tell if you can get traction on your own.  If you can’t, then stop.  Head back to the barn.  Get help.  Get pulled out.

Dad would approve.  Heck, he’d be the first one to hitch up and pull you out — and that’s why I miss him most.

Rest in peace Dick Heston.  And thanks for making a difference.

“If you plant it too early, it can’t grow; if you plant it too late, it won’t have time to grow.  But, if you don’t plant it at all, it damn sure won’t grow at all.”

–     Dick Heston (1933-2002)

Dad was a farmer.  A simplistic, but not simple man.  He refers to a crop here, but the words are patently accurate whatever they’re referencing.

Most of what we face is simplistic, if not simple.  And, if growth is our goal, then plant we must.  It might be too early in some cases.  It might seem too late in others.  But, we know what will happen if we skip the planting step, right?

Nothing.

Plant enough — of something — to make a difference today.