I hate the word can't!
It's one of those four letter words that I don't want my kids to say.
It's not so much the word that bothers me. It's the line of thinking behind it.
Can't tells me that you've hit a brick wall. You're a bit skeptical about a potential outcome or activity. It generally means you've weighed all that you understand and the desired result is impossible.
The key word to the above sentence is "understand". Limiting beliefs pins our understanding to the ground. It puts us at a disadvantage because we only have one perspective and many times it's the only one we consider.
Knowing what we don't know is one of the keys to get passed our own challenges.
The next time you're faced with an impossible task, instead of coming to the conclusion that you can't do it, ask yourself how can you do it.
Saying something like "I can't afford a Porsche" is closed minded. End of story. End of thinking.
A different way to phrase the same challenge is, "What can I do to afford a Porsche?". That'll get the wheels turning in your brain. You'll go down a rabbit hole of possibilities.
Let me detail out my own thinking of how I could afford a Porsche:
Can I subscribe to any websites promoting used Porsche?
Is there a year that I want more than another?
Is there a type of Porsche that I want?
Do I know any other Porsche owners?
Porsche owners probably know other Porsche owners.
I should meet them all in my area. Someday they may want to sell.
If I want a new Porsche, it means I need to find throw away money to do that.
What do I have to do to make an extra $10,000 after tax income a year knowing that in 8 years I'll pay cash for my baby?
It's an extra $200 a week. So instead of watching TV for the next 8 years in my free time, what can I do extra, on the side, to build on my dream to own one of the world's finest automobiles.
I have a kick ass lawn-mower. I could find 5 lawns to mow for $40 each.
Kids sports always need officials. They pay the officials. I like sports. I could officiate my favourite ones on weekends.
That's a lot of work. And most people don't want to do more work. It's easier to numb their brains while they watch the latest episode of their favourite TV show while they say, "I can't afford a Porsche".
Are you willing to work for what you really want? It's that simple.
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Do you want to be another statistic?
I was reading about standard deviations and normal distributions yesterday when I got hit with an ah-ha moment. Here's what I know about normal distribution. The top of the curve in the centre is the mean or the average of all data points plotted on a graph.
In normal distribution, there are approximately 34% of all data points to the left and 34% of all data points to the right of one standard deviation from the mean. Going out two standard deviations from the mean, you will find a total approximately 48% to each side of the mean.
Passed two standard deviations, there is only about 2% on each side.
Whew, that's heavy statistical lifting. To make it simple. Look at the graph to the right. Each white line represents a standard deviation from the middle. If we were looking at businesses revenues against customer loyalty, you would find a similar type of curve. What got me excited was the curve explained that only 2% of businesses would be wildly successful while the 96% cry in mediocrity about the economy. And the remaining 2% would be so bad, their voices would be lost as would their businesses.
It explains why 50% of businesses fail in the first two years of opening. If you're on the left side of this curve, customer loyalty is lower than average and thus, you're losing ground everyday you open your doors.
It also explained why about 97% of airlines worldwide fail. Only 3% were truly remarkable to stay in business. Think Virgin, Southwest Airlines and WestJet.
Most businesses track their sales growth year over year. They expect greater than average increases in growth but aren't willing to make greater than average sacrifices. Average is bad. It's what everyone else has and it's where everyone else competes.
Jim Collins states that the enemy of great is good. To be good is not enough in our hyper competitive market where customers can order product at the click of a mouse.
To be better than average, a business has to be in the 2% of the graph to the extreme right, two degrees of standard deviation away from the mean.
What does it mean to be two degrees away? It means not doing what everyone else does. It means climbing a tree and venturing out on the skinny branch not afraid of falling. It's all about being different in a remarkable way. It means paying maniac attention to detail to wow a customer. It means telling a story so compelling that customers want to tattoo your brand on their bodies.
What are you doing to go two standard deviations away from everyone else? That's where greatness lives.
In normal distribution, there are approximately 34% of all data points to the left and 34% of all data points to the right of one standard deviation from the mean. Going out two standard deviations from the mean, you will find a total approximately 48% to each side of the mean.
Passed two standard deviations, there is only about 2% on each side.
It explains why 50% of businesses fail in the first two years of opening. If you're on the left side of this curve, customer loyalty is lower than average and thus, you're losing ground everyday you open your doors.
It also explained why about 97% of airlines worldwide fail. Only 3% were truly remarkable to stay in business. Think Virgin, Southwest Airlines and WestJet.
Most businesses track their sales growth year over year. They expect greater than average increases in growth but aren't willing to make greater than average sacrifices. Average is bad. It's what everyone else has and it's where everyone else competes.
Jim Collins states that the enemy of great is good. To be good is not enough in our hyper competitive market where customers can order product at the click of a mouse.
To be better than average, a business has to be in the 2% of the graph to the extreme right, two degrees of standard deviation away from the mean.
What does it mean to be two degrees away? It means not doing what everyone else does. It means climbing a tree and venturing out on the skinny branch not afraid of falling. It's all about being different in a remarkable way. It means paying maniac attention to detail to wow a customer. It means telling a story so compelling that customers want to tattoo your brand on their bodies.
What are you doing to go two standard deviations away from everyone else? That's where greatness lives.
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
Music makes me lose my mind
I love rap music. Always have. When I was a teenager, my friends used to think I was crazy. "Rap is not music". Most of my friends liked traditional rock 'n roll like Led Zeppelin, The Doobie Brothers, The Beatles, and Bruce Springsteen.
I like it all. There's something about the bass in a good dance tune, the story told in a old country song, the thrashing of a Metallica riff and the raw language of a rap song.
Rap has always been my favourite. The struggles with police, drugs, gangs and sex that urban musicians sung about has no relation to my own teenage struggles. For me it was the absolute opposite. It was my bizarro world.
Now that I think about it, it was my way of being different from everyone else.
It was my way of travelling the road less travelled.
But I didn't tell my friends because I was trying to conform. I didn't want to be singled out. It was a secret I didn't share until I started university.
When I bought my first car, I was one of those guys that spent too much money on subwoofers, amplifiers and stereo equipment. Driving down the street with my windows rolled down, my Honda Civic was a rolling DJ booth as it blasted out Gin and Juice by Snoop Dogg.
It wasn't until Eminem started rapping about Losing Control that rap music emerged as mainstream for white folks. The radio stations started playing his music with appropriate dubs to make it radio friendly. They even changed the name of the music genre to "Hip Hop" to make it sound more friendly.
As a dad, I don't play a lot of hip hop music out loud any more. My kids were taught that swearing is bad. I can't be a bad example with all the profanity.
My iPhone has some secret tunes that I listen to while I run.
My kids don't need to know. My secret continues but for a different reason.
Give me a beat...
I like it all. There's something about the bass in a good dance tune, the story told in a old country song, the thrashing of a Metallica riff and the raw language of a rap song.
Rap has always been my favourite. The struggles with police, drugs, gangs and sex that urban musicians sung about has no relation to my own teenage struggles. For me it was the absolute opposite. It was my bizarro world.
Now that I think about it, it was my way of being different from everyone else.
It was my way of travelling the road less travelled.
But I didn't tell my friends because I was trying to conform. I didn't want to be singled out. It was a secret I didn't share until I started university.
When I bought my first car, I was one of those guys that spent too much money on subwoofers, amplifiers and stereo equipment. Driving down the street with my windows rolled down, my Honda Civic was a rolling DJ booth as it blasted out Gin and Juice by Snoop Dogg.
It wasn't until Eminem started rapping about Losing Control that rap music emerged as mainstream for white folks. The radio stations started playing his music with appropriate dubs to make it radio friendly. They even changed the name of the music genre to "Hip Hop" to make it sound more friendly.
As a dad, I don't play a lot of hip hop music out loud any more. My kids were taught that swearing is bad. I can't be a bad example with all the profanity.
My iPhone has some secret tunes that I listen to while I run.
My kids don't need to know. My secret continues but for a different reason.
Give me a beat...
Sluggish
Think about the word sluggish for a minute.
Have you ever watched a slug. Its slimy, spongy, fatty exterior is disgusting. It moves slow. No wonder. When we say we're a bit sluggish, we are comparing ourselves to this beloved bottom feeder.
I've been a bit sluggish lately. Overweight, sometimes slimy and spongy, I woke up two weeks ago and asked what had to change in order to remove this feeling from my life forever. There are times when we're sick or just tired.
I'm not talking about neither. I'm talking about the feeling of not having energy to get up and to do something productive.
Reasons for my sluggishness are the following:
-Lack of exercise
-Lack of proper diet
-Lack of sleep
-Caffeine
-Lack of water
Changing one bad habit is hard enough, but changing them all at the same time is like climbing a icy brick wall without a ladder. But I've been doing it.
I broke down my bad habits and prioritized them in order of importance. Sleep was number one on my list.
Instead of watching movies and sports until midnight, I went to bed at 8:30 with my kids. The first night was hard, but I woke up at 4 am. Instead of watching sports highlights, I started exercising, writing and reading. All this happened before the rest of the family even got up. At 7:30 am, I had already put in a half day of work.
With exercise, I felt energized and didn't want to eat the normal crap I had in the morning. Plus I was thirsty after the workout. I needed water, not coffee. I filled up my water bottle and left the coffee pot alone.
That night, I didn't need to be convinced to go to bed at 8:30 pm. I was legitimately tired. Next morning I woke up early again. So the process began.
Three weeks later and I'm feeling great.
I tried a cup of coffee on Sunday. The taste disgusted me so bad I had to throw it out. No more coffee for this nut. A cup of coffee has always been like a hug in the morning. In a hug deprived society, it's always addictive to get that embrace. Instead of coffee, I replaced my vice with a green tea. I still get my hugs. It doesn't hurt me and I feel great.
No more sluggishness for this guy...
I had a bit of relapse at Christmas but yesterday morning I was up early again exercising before daylight. I feel great.
Have you ever watched a slug. Its slimy, spongy, fatty exterior is disgusting. It moves slow. No wonder. When we say we're a bit sluggish, we are comparing ourselves to this beloved bottom feeder.
I've been a bit sluggish lately. Overweight, sometimes slimy and spongy, I woke up two weeks ago and asked what had to change in order to remove this feeling from my life forever. There are times when we're sick or just tired.
I'm not talking about neither. I'm talking about the feeling of not having energy to get up and to do something productive.
Reasons for my sluggishness are the following:
-Lack of exercise
-Lack of proper diet
-Lack of sleep
-Caffeine
-Lack of water
Changing one bad habit is hard enough, but changing them all at the same time is like climbing a icy brick wall without a ladder. But I've been doing it.
I broke down my bad habits and prioritized them in order of importance. Sleep was number one on my list.
Instead of watching movies and sports until midnight, I went to bed at 8:30 with my kids. The first night was hard, but I woke up at 4 am. Instead of watching sports highlights, I started exercising, writing and reading. All this happened before the rest of the family even got up. At 7:30 am, I had already put in a half day of work.
With exercise, I felt energized and didn't want to eat the normal crap I had in the morning. Plus I was thirsty after the workout. I needed water, not coffee. I filled up my water bottle and left the coffee pot alone.
That night, I didn't need to be convinced to go to bed at 8:30 pm. I was legitimately tired. Next morning I woke up early again. So the process began.
Three weeks later and I'm feeling great.
I tried a cup of coffee on Sunday. The taste disgusted me so bad I had to throw it out. No more coffee for this nut. A cup of coffee has always been like a hug in the morning. In a hug deprived society, it's always addictive to get that embrace. Instead of coffee, I replaced my vice with a green tea. I still get my hugs. It doesn't hurt me and I feel great.
No more sluggishness for this guy...
I had a bit of relapse at Christmas but yesterday morning I was up early again exercising before daylight. I feel great.
My love/hate relationship with Facebook
In 2007 I was exposed to Facebook. It was the greatest technology to come along since email. Finally I had a way to find long lost friends as we crept further away from our original nesting grounds. Pictures of kids, family vacations, houses and oddities made me feel like I had reconnected with these comrades from a different time.
In one swoop, Facebook had fixed one of my problems. I hadn't gone to any of my high school reunions. I could catch up online. And I did! It was fun learning about other people's lives and all the exotic travelling. But then the inevitable happened. Once caught up, we stopped talking. We were Facebook friends but we weren't really friends anymore. Distance and time had broken the bond.
I read the more time one spends on Facebook, the more depressed a person becomes. In observing my own emotions, there's some truth there. Seeing all of the wonderful pictures, family vacations, parties, and houses made me wonder why my life wasn't as exciting. I envied others when my life was equally exciting. I didn't see that. I wasn't posting as frequently. I wasn't looking for affirmation. Nor was I asking for attention.
I started using Facebook for a means of communicating with staff. Creating a private group, we would have online staff meetings. Everyone had different schedules. So getting them all together was next to impossible. And it worked great. No need for email addresses or phone numbers, we would easily communicate via Facebook. If we needed an extra hand at work, I would post a mayday and someone would always respond to our SOS.
With more time these days, I find myself trolling through the news stories to see what others are posting. I don't feel a part of the Facebook crowd anymore. Some posts are informative, enlightening, educational and entertaining. But most feel contrived, forced and a few feel even fake.
I'm a big believer that if it makes you feel good, fill your boots. But if it doesn't make you feel good, you should stop it immediately. I have to quit Facebook for the same reason I stopped watching the news. None of it changes my life in a positive way.
So why bother?
In one swoop, Facebook had fixed one of my problems. I hadn't gone to any of my high school reunions. I could catch up online. And I did! It was fun learning about other people's lives and all the exotic travelling. But then the inevitable happened. Once caught up, we stopped talking. We were Facebook friends but we weren't really friends anymore. Distance and time had broken the bond.
I read the more time one spends on Facebook, the more depressed a person becomes. In observing my own emotions, there's some truth there. Seeing all of the wonderful pictures, family vacations, parties, and houses made me wonder why my life wasn't as exciting. I envied others when my life was equally exciting. I didn't see that. I wasn't posting as frequently. I wasn't looking for affirmation. Nor was I asking for attention.
I started using Facebook for a means of communicating with staff. Creating a private group, we would have online staff meetings. Everyone had different schedules. So getting them all together was next to impossible. And it worked great. No need for email addresses or phone numbers, we would easily communicate via Facebook. If we needed an extra hand at work, I would post a mayday and someone would always respond to our SOS.
With more time these days, I find myself trolling through the news stories to see what others are posting. I don't feel a part of the Facebook crowd anymore. Some posts are informative, enlightening, educational and entertaining. But most feel contrived, forced and a few feel even fake.
I'm a big believer that if it makes you feel good, fill your boots. But if it doesn't make you feel good, you should stop it immediately. I have to quit Facebook for the same reason I stopped watching the news. None of it changes my life in a positive way.
So why bother?
Monday, December 29, 2014
Self doubt
There are basically two types of emotion: love and fear.
Self doubt is one of fear's children.
It has the ability to enter my mind just when I thought I was certain.
When we bought our first business, there was blind optimism. I didn't think I could fail. And even if I could, there wasn't really much to lose. I had lost my job. We owed almost as much on the house as it was worth. There were no kids to feed. And there certainly wasn't any savings in the bank.
As I embark on a new adventure, blind optimism has been replaced with caution. Caution is important but it is related to self doubt. It can freeze an entrepreneur into analysis paralysis. Too much caution and fear starts to emerge its ugly head through the fruit of its womb: self doubt.
I now have things to lose. It shouldn't matter. But it does. Entrepreneurship is not for the faint of heart. Fear has no place in moving new ventures forward. But it strikes the best of us.
I read recently that Elon Musk sold his shares in Paypal for $200 million only to reinvest all of it in three new ventures. He didn't have enough money to pay rent. I'm not sure where that fearlessness comes from. There had to be days he questioned his motives.
In listening to Kenny Rogers' Baseball Song last night, it occurred to me that what I'm faced with has nothing to do with fear. My biggest problem is a lack of optimism.
Am I optimistic that I can duplicate the successes I have had or do I think I was just lucky? Pessimism is waving caution into the hanger of my life. Caution is holding me back. Caution is casting self doubt.
The glass needs to be half full.
Self doubt is one of fear's children.
It has the ability to enter my mind just when I thought I was certain.
When we bought our first business, there was blind optimism. I didn't think I could fail. And even if I could, there wasn't really much to lose. I had lost my job. We owed almost as much on the house as it was worth. There were no kids to feed. And there certainly wasn't any savings in the bank.
As I embark on a new adventure, blind optimism has been replaced with caution. Caution is important but it is related to self doubt. It can freeze an entrepreneur into analysis paralysis. Too much caution and fear starts to emerge its ugly head through the fruit of its womb: self doubt.
I now have things to lose. It shouldn't matter. But it does. Entrepreneurship is not for the faint of heart. Fear has no place in moving new ventures forward. But it strikes the best of us.
I read recently that Elon Musk sold his shares in Paypal for $200 million only to reinvest all of it in three new ventures. He didn't have enough money to pay rent. I'm not sure where that fearlessness comes from. There had to be days he questioned his motives.
In listening to Kenny Rogers' Baseball Song last night, it occurred to me that what I'm faced with has nothing to do with fear. My biggest problem is a lack of optimism.
Am I optimistic that I can duplicate the successes I have had or do I think I was just lucky? Pessimism is waving caution into the hanger of my life. Caution is holding me back. Caution is casting self doubt.
The glass needs to be half full.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
My cat is an asshole
My cat is a jerk. No that's too nice. He's an asshole.
He was born to my parents' cat, which weirdly makes him both my adopted son and my nephew. His greyish blue fur coat makes him look pure bred. I assure you, he's just a barnyard cat.
We've had him since he was six weeks old. We feed him every day only to find him in the mid afternoon perched on the desk, sprawled on top of my reading glasses and a book.
He always looks at me as if to say, "What do you want? I'm here so go find another spot. I've laid claim to everything on this desk". When I push him off, he meows. No, meowing is a cute noise. He lets out a bawl as if to say, you're hurting me, put me down before I chomp on that fleshy hand.
When he was young, we neutered him and de-clawed all four paws. Back claws and leather sofas are not a good combination for wildly playful kittens. He can't scratch me, even though he's tried. Maybe that's why he hates me.
The only time he's nice to me is in the morning when his fat ass crawls out of my daughter's bed to get fed. Once he knows the cat dish is full, he rubs his paw continuously over the door to be let out.
He's an indoor cat, but we let him outside for a few hours a day in the summer months. We live in the country and we're a safe distance from the road. There are nights when he can't find him as it gets dark. With foxes, bobcats and who knows what else lurking in the bushes, we try to get him to come in. But he's an asshole and assholes live on their own time. There have been a few nights he's been left outside to fend for himself. He usually wakes us up around 2am begging to come back in. I guess the big cat is not so tough with all of the real animals outside.
I swear he's tried to trip me a couple of times on the staircase as I wander down in the middle of the night. He'll run down the stairs only to stop on the fourth one and lay down. His greyish blue fur blends perfectly with our cherry staircase in the dark. No broken bones yet, but he's trying his damnedest.
I've always liked cats. I think it's the fur. Petting a cat is like snuggling with a live teddy bear. My cat doesn't like to be petted. He uses me for food, then he leaves.
Why I keep this asshole in my life is beyond me. I guess he's family and family sticks together.
He was born to my parents' cat, which weirdly makes him both my adopted son and my nephew. His greyish blue fur coat makes him look pure bred. I assure you, he's just a barnyard cat.
We've had him since he was six weeks old. We feed him every day only to find him in the mid afternoon perched on the desk, sprawled on top of my reading glasses and a book.
He always looks at me as if to say, "What do you want? I'm here so go find another spot. I've laid claim to everything on this desk". When I push him off, he meows. No, meowing is a cute noise. He lets out a bawl as if to say, you're hurting me, put me down before I chomp on that fleshy hand.
When he was young, we neutered him and de-clawed all four paws. Back claws and leather sofas are not a good combination for wildly playful kittens. He can't scratch me, even though he's tried. Maybe that's why he hates me.
The only time he's nice to me is in the morning when his fat ass crawls out of my daughter's bed to get fed. Once he knows the cat dish is full, he rubs his paw continuously over the door to be let out.
He's an indoor cat, but we let him outside for a few hours a day in the summer months. We live in the country and we're a safe distance from the road. There are nights when he can't find him as it gets dark. With foxes, bobcats and who knows what else lurking in the bushes, we try to get him to come in. But he's an asshole and assholes live on their own time. There have been a few nights he's been left outside to fend for himself. He usually wakes us up around 2am begging to come back in. I guess the big cat is not so tough with all of the real animals outside.
I swear he's tried to trip me a couple of times on the staircase as I wander down in the middle of the night. He'll run down the stairs only to stop on the fourth one and lay down. His greyish blue fur blends perfectly with our cherry staircase in the dark. No broken bones yet, but he's trying his damnedest.
I've always liked cats. I think it's the fur. Petting a cat is like snuggling with a live teddy bear. My cat doesn't like to be petted. He uses me for food, then he leaves.
Why I keep this asshole in my life is beyond me. I guess he's family and family sticks together.
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