Many years ago, when I visited my son Craig at Stanford University his friend Bertram lured me into a game of darts in the student lounge. Our target was the typical small dartboard. Although I won the first game, Bertram won the next two. In fact, after my initial “beginner’s luck,” many of my darts bounced helplessly off the wall.

Any goal in life is a target. I want the job. I want to make the sale. I want to win the game. Often when the goal is especially important the target seems to shrink to a tiny dot, much like the apple resting upon the head of William Tell’s young son as he was forced by the Austrian governor to prove his prowess with a bow and arrow.

You can either approach archery the hard way, like William Tell, or the easy way. The hard way is to practice, practice, practice, taking greater and greater risks under more and more challenging conditions. Certainly practice and challenge are useful tools. But there is an easier way to hit your target:

Expand your target.

Instead of using a minuscule bull’s-eye, try aiming at a target as big as an IMAX screen. This technique produces even more bull’s-eyes than Bertram made when he won our second two games of darts.

The obvious question is, how can you expand your target? The answer is simple: make your goals more and more general.

Here’s an example. When I met Jerry he was thirty-one, divorced, and desperately seeking to meet a twenty-five year old woman, fall in love, get married, and have three children—boy, girl, boy. The woman had to be at least five feet six inches tall, never married, and successful in her career but willing to give it up and stay home with their children.

Jerry was aiming at a rather small target. As months became years, Jerry dated more than thirty different women. Most of them were tall, never married, and successful in their careers. None was willing to marry Jerry, have three children, and abandon her career to stay home with their as-yet-unborn children.

One day Jerry called me, very excited.

“I want you to meet Jan,” he said. “Can you and Daveen (my wife) have dinner with us Saturday night?”

I checked my calendar. “We’d love to.”

As we were driving home after a lively evening, Daveen was surprised.

“I thought that Jerry only dated women who were five feet six inches or taller,” she said. “Jan is shorter than I am. She couldn’t have been more than five foot two.”

“I think you’re right.”

“And there is no way in the world that woman is going to give up her $200,000-a-year TV production job to stay home with babies.”

“True. In fact she said that she wasn’t sure she wanted more than one child, two at most,” I added.

“What happened to Jerry’s checklist?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I’ll ask him.”  The next day I called Jerry. “Daveen and I enjoyed our dinner with you and Jan.”

“Yeah, isn’t she terrific? I think we might get engaged.”

“That’s great, Jerry, but I thought you were looking for a taller woman who would stay home with your three unborn children . . .”

“That was two years ago,” he said. “Time has worn me down, thank goodness.”

“So you’re willing to settle?”

“No way. I’ve just expanded my horizons.”

“Jerry, you’re going to have to explain that one to me.”

“Sure. It’s true that I used to be very particular about who I dated. I carried around in my head a catalogue, like a spec sheet for a new car, and if a woman didn’t meet all the qualifications I wouldn’t even ask for her phone number. But it didn’t work.”

“Not enough candidates?”

“No. I met a number of great women, but I began to realize that my requirements were too restrictive. I mean, five foot six, five foot ten, five foot two—what difference does it really make?”

“None to me, but you’re in charge of your life.”

“Exactly. I learned that what I really wanted was someone who is fun to be with, a good companion, and someone who adores me.”

“Jan certainly seemed to meet those requirements.”

“You bet.” I could feel Jerry’s enthusiasm over the phone. “As I said, I just broadened my horizons.”

Expand your target. It works!

Alan

This cry is attributed to Crazy Horse, one of the American Indian leaders at the Battle of the Greasy Grass (commonly referred to as Custer’s Last Stand), which took place on June 25 and 26, 1876.

The obvious interpretation of this declaration is that “today is a good day to die in battle,” but by looking a little beneath the surface we might find a more valuable insight.

I remember an often-repeated statement by my eighth grade science teacher, “Read yourself full, then write yourself empty.”  He was talking about studying science, but isn’t that what each of us does every single day?  We fill ourselves with information from outside our skin, then spin it back out, into the world, mingled with our own unique sensibility.

Caretakers working with hospice patients who are near death uniformly report that few regret what they have done in their lives, only what they have left undone: that two-week trip to Europe, perhaps a few “I’m sorry’s,” or one final, unsaid, “I love you.”

None of us know which will be our final day. It could very well be today. This is why I think we could, and should, compress our best selves into this very moment.

I have thought, said, and accomplished much in my more than seventy-five years of yesterdays.  My voice will not be heard in that luminous tomorrow, where eternity has no ears.  I can only write myself empty today.

Maybe Crazy Horse was more lucid than his name implies.  I think he shouted, “Today is a good day to live.”

Alan

One of the more important lessons I’ve learned in my life is that almost any situation, no matter how seemingly negative, can be transformed into or replaced by a positive experience.

When my law partner and I were preparing to open our law firm many years ago we applied to lease prestigious office space in Century City.  Because I had scribbled my financial statement on a yellow sheet of paper, our application was refused.  I was not happy.  I am never happy when I feel rejected.  A friend once observed that I used to confuse refusal (“Sorry, can’t make it to your party”) with rejection (“I don’t like you”), which meant that I often felt rejected and I was often not happy.

Back to Century City.  I promptly responded to the landlord’s refusal with a neatly typed financial statement (the numbers did not change, just the presentation), and two weeks later the application was accepted. Meanwhile, however, my partner and I had leased space in the San Fernando Valley at a building that was not as formal.  During my entire business career of almost fifty years I have occupied only three different offices, all within a few miles of each other, and I have been delighted that I avoided the expense, traffic, and social complexity of the West Side of Los Angeles.

A few days ago I was talking to a friend of mine about this, and asked if she had a similar experience of disappointment transformed into delight.  She wrote to me:

“I was recently looking for a tenant to rent my apartment, and I found a woman that appeared to want it.  She seemed like a good fit, and we went through all the steps of the rental process.  I took the listing off of Craig’s List, and was looking forward to her moving in, when she very suddenly backed out. There was no explanation, just a curt apology.  I was pissed and disappointed.  It turns out that it was a good thing, because my current tenants are wonderful – the best I’ve had yet. I wouldn’t have known them had the original tenant come through with her agreement.”

My son Craig aspired to attend Brown University, but his application was not accepted.  Instead he graduated from the University of California at Berkeley, and I’m sure he would agree that his “second choice” turned out to be the best possible school for him.

When the restaurant I want to eat at doesn’t have an available table, I often find a better alternative.  When a lunch date cancels I am relieved that I can eat less and have an extra hour to finish a task that might otherwise trouble me tomorrow.

Fifty years ago I hired a new assistant, who I fired after two weeks.  Fortunately the candidate who was my second choice was still available, and we have been part of each other’s lives for almost fifty years. There is a lesson in all of this.

Often our emotions are short-lived.  When you think the sky is falling, take a moment and think again.  Take a deep breath, and remember that in your experience, and mine, today’s catastrophe often becomes the foundation of future success.

Alan