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I like numbers, which is one of the reasons I became an accountant. For fun I even took a bookkeeping course in high school. I may be weird in this respect, but I often think about numbers and run calculations in my head. On one flight to Hawaii the passengers were asked to estimate the time at which we would reach the half way point. I figured that the trip would take about five and a half hours, and that the first half of the flight would take longer than the second half because we were climbing to altitude. I entered two guesses – one for me and one for my wife. These were only thirty seconds apart. I took both first and second place and won two bottles of wine. Hooray for math!

But when I fly from Los Angeles to New York I think about that 9:00 am breakfast tomorrow, which is 6:00 am in Los Angeles, and that means I have to get out of bed at 4:30 am. Ouch!

A friend who is an airline pilot recently suggested that I don’t do the math. In other words, don’t remind myself that I will have to get up at 4:30 am. Instead, he said, I should adapt to Eastern time, and if I’m in bed at 11:00 pm I will have no problem waking up when the alarm rings at 7:30 am. Following his suggestion, I don’t do the math any more. Well, at least not as often as I used to. I have also applied this idea to other areas of my life. I am pretty successful now in not doing the math when I am late for an appointment. Before I used to calculate how long the trip would take, using different assumptions for traffic. If I left at 11:45 for a noon lunch, and realized that my journey would take thirty-five minutes, then I was tempted to cut some driving corners, literally. At the very least I was upset for all of those thirty-five minutes.

I don’t like to be upset, and a few months ago I realized I could stop doing the math. I decided I was not actually late until noon. So from 11:45 until noon there was no reason for me to be angry with myself, or fear upsetting someone else. I then took this idea further. While I do call if I expect to be more than ten minutes late, I don’t rush my driving, or beat myself up, because the more important issue for me is to arrive safely and enjoy lunch. I don’t want to arrive angry, with a dent in my car (this has happened), and out of breath.

Of course, there are times when you should do the math. After twenty years at the same bank my father moved his checking account to a new bank. I asked him, “Dad, did you cash out the remaining balance after you deducted for all of your outstanding checks?”

“No, Alan. I’m just going to let the checks clear, and take out whatever’s left.”

“You mean you don’t balance your checkbook every month?” I was incredulous.

“Not once in twenty years.” I think that to please me he added, “I do look at the

checks when they come back.”

This system works just fine for my dad (and I fear it is also common for many others). For me, however, it wouldn’t work. I still remember writing a check for $120.00 that my bank cleared for $1,200.00.

Perhaps there are areas of your life where you, too, could cut stress by not doing the math. If so I encourage you to try. But please be cautious about applying it in every situation. You don’t want to unintentionally overdraw your bank account.

Alan

Throughout my life I have made a number of prophecies or predictions about myself that have come true. Some are trivial (“I think I’ll enjoy that movie”). Some are important (“I think I will like being married to that woman”). Perhaps my personal prophecies merely reflect my confidence (“I will succeed in …”) or the lack of confidence (“I can’t do this . . . ”). Either way, they are often self-fulfilling.

If I attempted to walk along a long twelve-inch-wide wood plank I would have no problem. If that same wood plank was suspended between two twelve-story buildings I would be terrified and either refuse or, more than likely, fall. I am terrified of walking along the edges of cliffs or high buildings. Same activity (walking the plank), different prophecy, different result.

Tim, a close friend of mine, told me about one serious self-fulfilling prophecy from his first marriage. Tim had met his future wife, Marilyn, in high school when they were both sixteen-years-old. They dated, went steady, were engaged, and when they were both twenty-one they married. For the first seven years their marriage was excellent. Then, from Tim’s perspective, their relationship deteriorated. After three years of on-and-off arguments—often the same one—Tim concluded one night that he wanted to let Marilyn know that he was at a point in their marriage that required a make or break conversation. He felt that he needed to get her attention, and chose his words carefully.

As Tim tells it, they were sitting in the front seat of their old Pontiac and he said to Marilyn, “I’m thinking of leaving you.”

Tim did not say he was actually leaving because there was still an open question in his mind. He did want to let Marilyn know that their problems were continuing, and bothered him a lot.

Tim said he will always remember her immediate reply, which shocked him. “I’ve always expected this.”

“I’ve always expected this”? After five years of almost exclusively dating each other, more than ten years of marriage, after three children, after thirteen years of mutual loyalty, “I’ve always expected this”?

Tim was stunned.

Later he realized that Marilyn had been living for many years with a scary self-fulfilling prophecy—that Tim would eventually leave her. Perhaps she felt inadequate in some way. She may have been filled with the memory of her father, who was unreliable. I never asked. But Marilyn’s prophecy did come true. Tim told me that he wished her unconscious forecast had been that they would always be together because there might have been a different result.

By comparison, I visited a psychic years ago. I was concerned about three important business deals.

The psychic told me that all three would fail. Please note that this was her prophecy, not mine. I responded to her prediction by deciding to be even more careful and to pay more attention to each transaction. My prophecy, which turned out to be self-fulfilling, was that all three would succeed, and they did.

I realize that few, if any, of us ever want to be wrong, and it is easier to fail than to succeed. So when you predict failure you might be correct more often than when you predict success. In my mind, however, the real question is this: which prophecy will help you to succeed more often? That is the entire thrust and purpose of my People Tools series of books: to help you succeed more often. I know that when I predict failure or uncertainty for myself I am often accurate. But when I predict success, I am also often correct.

If prophecies tend to be self-fulfilling, I prefer to infuse them with optimism. I would rather succeed than correctly predict my own failure.

Alan

I’m a guy, and not terribly concerned about my appearance.  My hair is short and takes a few seconds to comb or brush into place.  I almost always wear a collared shirt with two pockets, one for my iPhone and the other for my pen and reading glasses.  My slacks are dark, my socks are black, my shoes are black.  I trim my beard every week or two, and I wear no makeup.

Simple. Constant.  Quick.

By contrast, many people I know, men and women, pay much more attention to their appearance than I do to mine.  They will color, tint, streak, wash, blow dry, and brush their hair.  Blouses, sweaters, or jackets vary according to the season, the time of day, or the event.  Pants, dresses, or ties are selected by color, designer, and whim.  Shoes?  My mother once packed twenty four-pairs of shoes for a two week family vacation.

Sophisticated.  Variable. Time consuming.

At this point you might, justifiably, be thinking that I am ranting against caring too much about your appearance before appearing in public.  If I had written this yesterday morning you might have been correct.  “Just go out there,” I would have said.  “You look fine.  You don’t need to fine tune your makeup or your pocket square.”

Today I have changed my mind, because yesterday afternoon I had an empathic experience.

For much of the past week I have suffered from a head cold.  My nose dripped, my ears were clogged, and, worst of all, my head was stuffy.  This means that I had difficulty hearing, could not focus on what was being said, and my brain would not process information reliably.  In short, yesterday was a day for me to stay in bed and watch sports on TV, which I did.

Unfortunately for me, at three in the afternoon I had agreed to host an outdoor 70^th birthday party at my home for a close friend.  As host I was expected to put in an appearance, which I did.  While I didn’t shake hands or hug anyone, I said “hello,” received thanks and compliments, and after a few hours begged off and said my “goodbyes.”  It was a difficult experience for me.

Walking back into my house, and looking forward to returning to my bed, I realized that I just didn’t want to appear in public with a less than perfect mind.  “Just like someone,” I thought, “who doesn’t want to appear in public with a less than perfect appearance.”

Ouch!  My mind flashed on all those years of tapping my mental fingers while waiting for my partner to perfect her appearance before leaving the house.  Of course my own calling card, my mind, was always ready to go.

So in the future I vow to be more patient while waiting for the final brushing of hair or selection of shoes.  I will realize that we all want to be presentable in front of company.

My new problem is that I am now more consciously self-conscious about the appearance of my mind.  For example, I think that the title to this blog could be a bit better, but my mind is not yet at one hundred percent so I’m sending this blog out in public anyway.  I trust that since I now have more empathy, you will exhibit more compassion if my thoughts fall short of perfection.

Or perhaps you have had that compassion all along.

Thanks.

Alan