Are you in a hurry? I always am. My brain has no “on/off” switch, so it’s either operating at full speed or I’m asleep.  This is probably because I have an obsession about not wasting anything – time, resources, or money.  It seems to me that any time I’m not thinking I’m wasting time.

During World War II, when I was only five years old, my mother complained about gasoline rationing as she was driving us somewhere.

“Do they give you enough gas to waste?” I asked.

“What do you mean, Alan?”

“Well, when you stop at stoplights, the engine keeps running and uses gas.”

My mom laughed.  “Yes, we have enough gas to keep running the car at stoplights.”  (Today my wife’s car engine automatically turns off at stoplights, so I must have been ahead of my time.)

At night my father used to heat the house to 55 degrees.  “No sense wasting money on heat when we’re sleeping,” he said.  (For those of you who grew up in Minneapolis or Toronto, you should know that I was a boy in Southern California.)

To help me waste as little time as possible, I’ve established a few rules I live by:

1. Moving from one place to another wastes time. Accordingly, I do it as infrequently as possible and don’t really enjoy a journey in a car or an airplane – unless I’m reading a book or doing something else to justify (to myself) the use of the time.
2. Do it once. That saves time.  Of course, I often have to force myself to slow down and do it right.  Or – horrors of horrors – I have to do it again.  I have an ongoing internal battle about taking enough time to do a proper job, or just being quick.
3. If possible, do it at home. When I watch a sporting event on TV in my bedroom or family room I don’t have to travel to Denver or downtown Los Angeles.  The moment an event is over I can eat dinner or go to bed.  I don’t have to find my car, navigate the parking lot, and then drive or fly back home.  I used to fantasize about living my entire life inside my own house.  Be very careful what you wish for!

Am I suggesting any change of thought or behavior for you? Maybe.  If you’re not satisfied with the way you are living part of your life, you might consider a change.  But, please, hurry up about it.

Alan

When I was a kid I took my dad’s bicycle apart – and never figured out how to put it back together.  Today, seventy years later, the wheels, handle bar, and seat probably remain exactly where I hid them – under the house I grew up in.

Recently, I shared this story with my friend Ron. That’s funny,” he said.  “I did exactly the same thing. The third time it only took me twenty minutes to put the bicycle back together again.”  Did I mention that Ron is an engineer? A few years ago, he replaced the foundation of his house all by himself.

For good reasons, I did not become an engineer. I became a tax attorney and specialized in tax-advantaged investments.

Isn’t adding value the story of our lives?  A pile of bicycle parts has little value.  But an assembled bicycle has great value. That’s what our jobs should be about – finding the best way we can to add value.  That’s why dinner at a restaurant costs more than the same ingredients at home. We’re paying for the expertise and added value the chef brings to the table (pun intended).

In a personal relationship we also add value. At home I shop for the groceries (today I often use Instacart), and Daveen washes the dishes.  I like grocery shopping, but I hate cleaning up.  When I was a kid I found that if I “accidentally” dropped and broke enough dishes my parents stopped asking me to wash them.  Daveen and I both think we have a good deal.

This intersection of attitude and aptitude is where each of us can add the most value.  In an ideal world we would each figure out what we enjoy doing, and what we’re good at.  Hopefully, those are the same.

At the end of our conversation I made a deal with Ron.  I’ll help him with his income tax return, but he won’t ask me to help him replace the foundation under his next house.

Alan

On the last day of class Richard Wicks, my law professor for Contracts, said, “By now I’ve taught you all you need to know about the elements of a contract. But today I’m going to share the final, most important, lesson.”

The hands of seventy first-year law student were poised to take that final note.

“The ultimate clause of every contract should always state, ‘And I mean it gosh darn it!’”  Professor Wicks said it more colorfully, but you get the point.

In my blog during the past eight years I’ve covered many topics, but one principle that I follow often, that deserves a return appearance, is the theory of Sunk Cost. When making a decision you should consider only the future and ignore the “Sunk Cost” of the past.

For example, imagine you are watching a movie in a theater (remember that experience?) and after the first ten minutes you are terminally bored.  But you have already paid for your ticket.  That is your sunk cost because you’re not going to get your money back.

Do you sit through the rest of the film “”to get your money’s worth,” or do you simply leave?  And what about your companions, who may want to stay?

Years ago I was at a movie with Daveen and my parents.  I found it offensive, but I didn’t want to create a scene.  I whispered to Daveen, “I’ll wait for you in the lobby. You can all finish watching the movie.”

Normally, if Daveen starts watching a movie she finishes it.  I was surprised when, ten minutes later, the three of them also walked out.

My point is, I’d already spent the money, and invested my time.  But the only real question I should be thinking about is how I want to spend the next hour.  Do I always have to finish something I paid for?  When I’m attending a sports event in person (remember that?) and my team is leading by forty points I don’t have to stay for the last five minutes of the game.  I prefer to beat the other cars out of the parking lot.

We can’t escape from the fact that our lives must be lived totally in the future.  But past experience is useful as a guide, not a prison.

I encourage you to free yourself from the tyranny of sunk cost.  And I mean it, gosh darn it.

Alan