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According to General George Patton, “A good plan violently executed today is better than a perfect plan tomorrow.”
It’s easy to fall into the trap of trying to get everything absolutely perfect before taking action.
Just one more meeting.
One more check.
You can do this.
Say it again.
You can do this.
Say it again.
You can do this.
Say it again…
Every day, before we enter the office, we should go through mandatory attitude testing.
Are we feeling optimistic?
Are we ready to serve?
Are we energised and enthusiastic about the day?
Are we prepared to do our best work?
I’m not there yet, but I’m still going.
Sometimes, I feel like giving up, but I’m still going.
The progress is slower than I would like, but I’m still going.
My goals shift occasionally and can seem far away, but I’m still going.
Great tennis players don’t just practice hard to maintain their current level, they practice to get better.
Great concert pianists don’t work hard to stay the same, they aspire to get better.
Great writers, leaders, artists, investors and speakers aren’t just maintaining the status quo, they understand that to remain at the top of their field, they need to find ways to get better.
And they do.
Have you ever met someone with a flawless record?
Someone who never made a mistake?
Someone who was universally liked?
If you have, I bet that they have never actually achieved anything.
Because success isn’t about doing things perfectly.
Before a house is planned and built on a vacant block of land, someone wonders, interested passers-by wonder, “How big will it be?”
As a tree is growing, the gardener wonders, “How big will it be?”
As a teenager eats us out of house and home, we wonder, “How big will he be?”
As a business launches, the owners wonder, “How big will it be?”
And then there’s you.
Rainless clouds offer such promise.
Farmers see them in the distance and have hope.
They start to get excited and anticipate a bumper crop in the future.
But then… nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
A man joined a monastery where the monks were only allowed to speak two words every five years.
At the end of five years they were given an audience and said their two words.
At the end of his first five years, the novice simply said, “Bed hard.”
At the end of the tenth year, he said, “Food bad.”
I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall
I correct it?
Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?
