I’ve often been asked, “What can I do to be successful in business?

My answer has evolved over time, but my basic message is simple:  Add value.

What can you do with a pen and a sheet of paper?  Write the Constitution of the United States, or a poem, or a love letter.  What can you do with metal, cloth, and glass?  Build an automobile.  What can you do with your time?  Hopefully, an activity that will add value to your own life as well as to the lives of others.

One of the best examples I know of a person who adds value to everything he does is Tim Green, the editor of the poetry journal Rattle.  Tim is often asked, about the size of his staff at Rattle.  College-sponsored literary journals might have as many as a dozen employees. But the staff of Rattle consists of just two people. Tim and his wife.

I can’t even begin to list all the value Tim adds to Rattle.  Everyone who reads it should realize that Tim is not just the editor.  He is the subscription department, the submission department, the advertising department, and every other department that is needed.

Rattle has as many as 150,000 poems submitted each year.  Tim and his staff of one narrow this number to about 600, and every three weeks it is my pleasure to meet with Tim to review thirty or forty of the poems that he and his staff like best.  They add value.

But adding value doesn’t just apply to being successful in business. You can also add value to people around you every day. Why not say a kind word to the checker at the grocery store or give the person delivering your package a smile? Why not do something extra nice for your loved ones for no reason other than because you love them and want to add value to their lives (as well as your own).

On a personal note, I always feel happy (and sometimes relieved) when I finish my weekly blog, which I have written regularly for more than eight years. I hope my work adds value to your life, as it does to mine.

I wish you a week filled with added value.

Alan

A habit is first a cobweb, then a cord, and finally a cable.

I’ve written about changing habits before, but, for me, one of the best examples of how someone can successfully change an existing habit is illustrated by my evolving patterns around food.

When I was growing up, my mother would begin to cook dinner when I arrived home from school.  I would keep her company, snacking for two hours on a treat I prepared for myself. In effect, I ate two dinners every afternoon.

This morning I mused about those afternoons with Mom, as I fried my single egg and placed one slice of bread into the toaster.  I remembered that when I was seven my usual breakfast was four eggs, four slices of toast, and half a package of bacon.  That’s a lot of breakfast for a seven-year-old.  No wonder my weight from the age of fifteen until about ten years ago was never below two hundred pounds, topping out at 278 in my fifties.

I don’t need to dwell on the reasons.  That fact was that I generally stuffed myself with as much food as I could possibly manage.

But today I weigh in at 190 and have maintained that weight consistently. I eat a reasonable breakfast of about two hundred calories, compared to a thousand calories when I was forming my eating habits.

So, after seventy years, how did I successfully disconnect from the cable of consumption?

Ten years ago, one of my sons mentioned a friend of his who had lost 60 pounds by working with a nutritionist.  I contacted the nutritionist, and we collaborated for more than a year. She taught me how to develop new, healthier habits around food.

For example, one of her tips for lunch was to eat just one open-faced sandwich, half at noon and the other half in mid-afternoon.  And no chips.  She consistently told me that I could eat anything I wanted – even chocolate cake.  But no more than two bites.  (Yesterday evening I filched just two of my wife’s French fries, then stopped.)

Can we change habits? Of course.  But we usually need a strong motivation, such as better health.  Advice from a professional can also be useful, as well as support from family and friends.

If you have a habit you’d like to change, I suggest you begin to weave a brand-new cobweb.

Alan

I have added them all up, and I can now reliably report that each of us makes exactly a zillion decisions, both great and small, every day.

What time shall I get out of bed?  What shall I have for breakfast?  Shall I refuel the car?  Those are some of the small decisions we might make.

Shall I accept an offer of marriage?  Should I move across the country for a new job?  Do I want to go back to school to learn a new profession?  These are a few of the larger decisions we might face in our lives.

You can easily reverse the small decisions.  I can walk out of the theater if I’m not enjoying the movie. I can pour myself a bowl of cereal for breakfast if the family has already finished the eggs.  I can leave work early if I am needed at home.  It’s not super important to get these decisions right the first time, because you can modify them easily.

It’s important, however, to get the big decisions right the first time.  A divorce is emotionally and financially draining. Moving back to where you lived before a cross-country job opportunity might be challenging – or impossible. Finding a profession that you love often involves a certain amount of luck – along with a series of well-played decisions.

So how do you deal with the difficult decisions, especially those that can be life-changing and that you need to wrestle with in your own mind?

A friend of mine once suggested a technique I find useful. I simply make a decision, but I don’t tell anyone.  I let myself experience how the decision feels.  If I’m flooded with pleasure, I proceed with that choice.  But if, after deciding, I feel like I’d have regrets, then I can change my mind.

The important factor is to decide, not dither.

Of course, another choice is simply not to decide, but that is a decision as well.

I seldom agonize before I make a decision, but occasionally I need to remind myself that my powers of prediction are limited, and I can never know for sure, even with the benefit of hindsight, if the decision I made was the best one.

In the fourth grade my teacher had a little red book on the corner of her desk with all the correct answers to the math problems.

As an adult, I can’t always be certain that I’m asking the right questions.

Alan