The proverb “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step” is attributed to the Chinese philosopher Lao-Tzu.

For me, my first step is often the most challenging.  I have consistently written my blog every week for more than seven years.  I never lack for ideas.  Most weeks I have two or three new ideas that I either immediately write down or promptly forget.  It seems that the better the idea, the more quickly I forget it, sometimes just as I begin to write it down.  That’s why I always carry a pen and paper, or an iPhone, and why I have accumulated a long list of ideas.

Once I sit down and write the title and first sentence of my blog, the ideas seem to flow.  But sitting down in the first place?  Ay, there’s the rub.

With so many paths available in life, you never know where your first step might take you. In terms of a career the first step is often preliminary to the discovery of one’s journey.  One of my young grandsons is fascinated by anything to do with building and city design.  He often discusses this subject with his maternal grandfather, who is a retired architect.  Will my grandson turn out to be an architect?  Perhaps. Encouraging his interest could be the first step in what might become his chosen career path, and without that first step he might never discover and develop his passion.

My son Craig, is a professor.  When Craig was a college undergraduate I asked him the typical parent question, “What did you learn this semester?”  He immediately began to rattle off a number of psychology studies, in detail, including the name of each author.  I was dumbfounded.  When I was a college student I generally remembered the basic ideas from a course, but never many details.  That’s one reason I’m not a professor. I was never willing to take even the first studious step.

Other areas of our lives also begin with an essential first step. A friendship begins with saying hello. A marriage begins with a proposal. “Will you marry me?” is a first step to what will hopefully will become a lifelong journey.

Two of my grandchildren, now in their twenties, have recently released original songs they have written and recorded.  Will one or both of them become the next Beyoncé or Frank Sinatra?  Time will tell.  I’ve never had a desire to write or record a song, so that’s a first step I’m not likely to ever take. I’ve published five books, however, and each one began with my writing down a single word.

I’m sure I will take a number of steps today.  I wonder which, if any, will be the beginning of a longer journey.

How about you?

Alan

I live in a house on a cul-de-sac, so I’m certain that every car driving South past my house will eventually turn around and head North back to the main street.

For the past forty years I have lived in a house on a cul-de-sac.  When I was walking in my neighborhood last weekend I wondered about the implications of that choice.

First, I don’t like the sound of traffic.  Whenever I stay in a hotel in Manhattan, I think that there must be a lot of fires or sick people there because the annoying sound of sirens is nonstop.

Second, I prefer my home to remain private.  No salesperson or Halloween trick-or-treater has ever knocked at my door.

Finally, all of my mail is directed to my office.  At home I only open the mailbox once a month to clear out the flyers and junk mail.

I realize that in my life I work either at 100% of capacity, or 0%.  There is no in-between, no second or third gear. I’m a little like my Tesla that accelerates from zero to 60 mph in three seconds.  At my office I’m always moving at 60 mph.  At home I pretty much remain at zero.

When I was growing up my father had a work of art above his desk in the den inscribed with the saying, “Let me live in a house by the side of the road, and be a friend to man.”  Perhaps the location of my home allows me to live by those words, written by the poet Sam Walter Foss more than a century ago.

There are hermit
souls that live withdrawn
In the peace of their self-content;
There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths
Where highways never ran;-
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

Alan

Spoiler alert:  I will reveal the most important secret near the very end of this blog, so it’s your choice — either skip to the conclusion or read all the way through.  It depends on whether you like to enjoy your journey or prefer to arrive at your destination quickly.

Either way, I will keep it short.

During the past week I realized that, like many of us during the pandemic, I’ve fallen into the trap of feeling sorry for myself some of the time. Members of my household have even asked me, “Are you okay?”

Like my dad, I always answer that question with, “Everything’s fine.”  This past week has been no exception.  While I gladly solicit the opinions and help of others in business, I do not complain about my personal life unless it has become pretty grim.  But I have been grumbling to myself lately, giving myself an “Ain’t it awful” message instead of the more uplifting, “Isn’t this fun?”

But I’ve changed my internal message.  While my daughter and I prepared the stuffing for our Thanksgiving dinner, I focused on the joy of cooking together and found myself looking forward to an intimate dinner for four rather than the usual throng of twenty.  It will be different, but variety is a good thing, even though I do like certain traditions.

The real trick of getting what you want every day is to realize that, as much as we try, we can’t control what happens to us.  Bummer.  But we can control our reaction.  So all you have to do to get what you want every single day is to reframe your perspective and define the outcome as “exactly what you wanted”.

If, on Thursday, someone spills the cranberry sauce all over the floor, I’m planning to tell myself, “Thank goodness.  Now I can concentrate on the turkey and stuffing, and eat fewer calories.  I don’t like cranberry sauce anyway.”  (Of course, that’s only if I can’t find my secret stash of cranberry sauce in back of the pantry.)

Happiness is when there is no gap between what I want to happen and what actually happens.  I have trained myself to accept reality, and to label it, “That’s exactly what I wanted.  I just didn’t know it yet.”

Of course, after Thanksgiving dinner I would buy more cranberry sauce to enjoy with the leftovers, which is the best part of Thanksgiving anyway.  And with only four people at the table, there will definitely be more leftovers.

Yum.

Alan