Day 30 - Wastin' away again in margarittaville

Day 28 - Fastidious

I don't even need to define what it means. The way the word just rolls of one's tongue the word defines itself. Fastidiously. I've always dreamed of living fastidiously. All my shirts hung neatly in the closet, ironed by the fastidious cleaning lady who arrives fastidiously at 5 to nine on Mondays and Thursdays. They are evenly spaced, two inches apart. (the shirts – not the Mondays and Thursdays).

When I get dresses for work my socks are neatly paired. Everything is crisp. Breakfast is prepared and cleared with economy of movement. I get into the car, which is polished and vacuumed. Even the clock is properly set. There are no crumbs and old coins, no crumpled paper towels. No discarded Pokémon cards, no water bottle tops filled up incongruously with snack crumbs, and no impossible to recognize bits of quasi junk food wrappers, my wife is helpless to make the kids clean up.

This is a fantasy of course. But some days I strive to achieve and actually do. It really puts me over the top. The kick from the coffee becomes a bit stronger. There’s a spring on my step and all of a sudden there’s nothing stopping me. The future is bright! Hollywood, Nashville, Davos . . . Here we come!

The opposite of fastidious - that to which I aspire never to stoop, is of course slovenly. Like when my father used to make his Hebrew national hotdogs after his golf game. Everything scattered. Disassembled jars of guldens mustard. A trail of crumpled paper towels creating a tell-tale map to the basement, where my father sits in his man cave with a six pack and the boob tube. My friends always remarked with incredulity at the way my father would leave a cartoonish trail of refuse and my mother would literally follow behind him cleaning everything up.

No, I am quite sure I am not that bad.  Yet there is something in the genes. Sometimes it just gets that way. A bit of desperation and exhaustion and bam! No time to put away the dishes, no concern about the pop tops from the beer bottle hiding in the corner of the kitchen. The eponymous crumpled paper towels, strewn variously on shelves and on countertops, and sometimes finding their way to a hidden corner on the floor. Don’t know what it s about the crumbled paper towel. They just seem to be my family's moniker for failure to main its fastidiousness. Even after my father has moved on from the 6 packs and Hebrew nationals his car still manages to be full of the crumpled paper towels. Usually with lots of coffee stains on them. There a security blanket of sorts I suppose, kind of like Linus and his blanket. Security against what? Hard to say. Ironically I think it protects against the fear that something will drip and there will be nothing to clean it up. An somehow it becomes a never-ending cycle like the cat brought in to rid the mouse, and the dog brought in to rid the cat, and so on till the cure is worse than the problem.

These days I strive and struggle for the fastidiousness, but it is hard not to be overwhelmed. So stressful1, so busy! Going to work, going to the gym, going shopping,  sorting all those things in all those pockets! Keys, security card, wallet, a pen or two, and 2 blackberries mind you, and let’s not forget the obligatory paper towel or two lest one get a runny nose which is more than likely during my 15 minute walk to work in -10 degree weather.

I do manage, sometimes, in sudden fits of inspiration. I Clean, I feel good, I am ready to conquer the world, the vision runs wide and deep. So wide and deep I need to sit down just to take it all in. So intense is it that I find \I need to sit down. Eventually this leads to either the TV or the PC which usually means one or the other of internet backgammon, reality TV or OMG articles from Yahoo. And alas, the fastidious is on hiatis until further notice. But also it never lasts :( which is why I got a cleaning maid one a week. She is excellent but has not managed to dust above the kitchen fan (have the same problem with CL back in Brat (what s it about the damn kitchen fan it’s like washing windows I would imagine - but what would I know about such things . . .

Day 24 – Don’t stop believing

I was reading about Steve Perry today on the Yahoo blah, blah page. Turns out he has stopped believing. Guy hasn’t turned out an album in years. And his last one Sucked! And his band mates hate him!! Turns out hea has suffered from depression for like 15 years! And I thought I had it bad! Given the news of yesterday and the punch in the stomach I kinda feel for Steve – it’s hard not to stop believing . . .

In fact today was one of those days were I almost did. I was just sick of myself. Stuck in the office reading Steve Perry articles. I should be out on the field, getting scratches on my chin, knocking things around. But no. Poor old me. Stuck in his office. No body wants to play with me. Nobdy want to come visit it me . . .

So I decided to pick up the phone. Who really wants to hear from me? Not that guy. He’s busy. He thinks I’m some fuckin weirdo American who can’t even speak his language and just wants to sell him something. Fuck it. Ring, ring, ring. Not there. Cool, I’ll hang up and send him an e-mail. Then O don’t have to hear the sound of my own frickin’ voice as I  sound like a jerk on the phone. Ah-llo. (Fuck). Ah hello there  . . . .

Not so painful actually! Dinner in the big city next week. Hey let’s try this again . . . 11:30 rolls around and I have three lunches lined up with the potential new custies! . . . Fuck it I’m feelin so good I think I’ll do some internal selling. Go down to AB’s office. Got to pretend like I’m not trying to piggy back on his clients so I make up some BS about how to deal with the stupid Ukrainian bank HR has signed us both up with. He bites. Cool, we’re in. Oh and by the way what about that Nafco thing, anything ever happen with that. Pause. Ahhhhh. Hmm, let me think nahh. Oh, Ok. Okay. Well alright. Pause. Hey you around for lunch? Well you know I don’t do lunch. So I’ll eat lunch and you can watch me! I’ll buy you a cup a tea. Ka-ching, work shop and target planning session Friday . . . that the way I rooooll. Rollin, rolling, roollin!

After lunch was different. Back to the fish tank. Almost fell asleep at my desk about 5 times. Let me take that back. I did fall asleep at my desk about 5 times. Then I get an e-mail. Subject: Tonight. Message: if you’re not free come around for dinner - me and a bunch of my girlfriends are getting together and we need an extra guy to even out the male female ratio. Game? Am I game? I’m game set match! I even have an excuse to not go to the gym. Man sometimes I really don’t feel like going to the gym.

Well it starts to get late. Dinner gets canceled. I start to fall asleep. The yahoo stories start to get more depressing then Steve Perry cancelling his tour. Bad shit like child murderers, rape and incest. It is really sick. Fuck it - I go to the gym. Good work out, and Steve Perry is always there for me. Don’t stop believin’ . . . Motha Fuckaaah! Ohhh yeahhh. :* 

Day 23 - punch in the stomach

Just as I was leaving work today I got a call that really felt like a punch in the stomach. So continues my seesaw of mood swings these days, because I was actually in quite a good mood this morning. When I was cruising the net earlier today, somewhere between mid-morning e-mail and post coffee constitutional, I happened on a provoking article in the NYT. Had to do with what makes people successful. It uses as an example the Korean chef and restaurateur - the guy who does Momofuku. The point of the article is research examining what people do when they fail, in order so they can pick themselves up and succeed once again. How do they successfully reinvent themselves. The magic key, acording to the research, is to do what's call a double loop. When examining your failure you got to go deep, be relentless.

As I have posted earlier, I feel I am in a reinvention stage (see day x to hear the cycle) at the moment, so the context of the article was clearly relevant. But another aspect of it really got under my skin. How honest have I been in the past about my failures, and my successes, and what they really had to do with where I am now? I have always been afraid of failure and therefore afraid to ask certain questions or examine myself too closely. To some degree my resolution project is a step in the right direction and that has given so mojo boost, bt still . . .

For example, now that our team is struggling it is oh so convenient to put together a bunch of excuses and line em up in a row. It's the market, it’s the competition, it’s the economy, it's the internal politics, I travel too much and am losing focus, we have the wrong strategy, we don't have support . . . What is harder to say: I am lazy, arrogant, de-motivated, not focused, struggling with my own network, incapable because of languiage, not experienced enough or not slkilled enough. Al of these things are true on one level but can be denied almost as easily

So one idea that come to mind id how I can use the blog to really examine myself, aid my reinvention. In a sense that is consisted with original blog, no? |I could examine a flaw every month . . . hmmmmmmmm, where to start?

1. nervous
2. arrogant
3. paranoid
4. panicky
5. unclear
6. de-motivated
7. lazy
8. sloppy
9. not skilled enough
10. no experienced enough
11. not specific and detailed enough - too high level
12. lacking leadership

Having thought about the above during and after lunch, my out of the box moment for day could be put aside, and it was time to go on cruise control. Bad idea. During a project review with one of my former colleagues I have earned that the team in Czech has been put on notice. Like warren says - it’s all about the dough . . . and we ain't making it.

What am I gonna do? what will people say?! Will I have to sell my house?! . . . all this fantasizing about reinvention and becoming a Zumba instructor 0  I should looking for a job! Now!! And not only for me but, these guys who followed me on my journey and let me be there boss for the last 3 years. I have FAILED (almost) . . .

One of the most disheartening things is the question from colleague - "so is the journey over?) Depressing! Worst of all, I don’t have a good answer.

Silver linings, though, I  am pretty sure nobody has any regrets, although we see what they say when heads start rolling . . . :(

Day 18 - Money, money, money

Today I was engaged in a weekly process most people called managing the budget, balancing the check book, monitoring the portfolio. In our house the process is called bankrupting. For as many years as I have been doing, on a regular basis, there will be less cash in the portfolio than forecasted or otherwise perceived. Panic ensues and general cry of "we're bankrupt!" ensues. Emotional trials and tribulations ensue for a time and then we somehow get back to normal.

Today's bankrupting was going awesomely until I learned that a EUR 600 gas bill wasn't paid, and that a unplanned  300 euro beauty treatment  I had ordered for my wife also didn't get paid. Both were unexpected pains last month and know I was reliving them a second time. I didn't have a total freak-out per se, but let's just say I almost left my wife in tears, and certain parts of my breakfast ended up in random places in and around the general area of our kitchen.

To try and gain some perspective I’m reflecting upon what Warren G says it in his Tina Turner sampling "what's Love got to do with it". I think this pretty well describes the web of relationships for anybody who's working for "the man". The man being basically the corporate world, but essentially any organization where we deal with faceless bosses and a non-human entity which is the essential character of the limited liability business structure. When we work for the man it also has an impact on our relationship with friends and lovers, as we compete against each other for money and prove ourselves acceptable mates for breeding, providing and protecting. Here are some of the lines that stand out for me:

. . .
Ain't nothin' you can do to make it stop
'Cause money makes the world go 'round and the panties drop.
. . . .
You say you had love, I said you need to quit.
It's all about the dough, so what's love got to do with it?
. . .
If you's a true homey, you would wish me well,
Not plot to see a brother fell, jealous as hell.
. . .
It's all a shame, homies'd jack you for your grip.
Ain't no love involved, because it's all about the chips.
. . . .
Sign the dotted line, put 'em on the shelf.
Break 'em off some crumbs, keep the rest for yourself.
. . .
90% business, 10% show.
Ain't no love in this game, 'cause it's all about the dough.

My wife thinks this process is totally crazy, and that I am nuts. Of course she is partially right but not entirely. Let's face we all need money to live and in the modern world the issue is fraught with complexity more than ever. I even read in MTM recently that credit scores are the new zodiac as in "what’s your sign" has been replaced with "what's your credit score." I think it fair to say for the population at large personal finances are an emotional issue, and when it comes to joint personal finances, both parties often bring baggage with them.

In my case the baggage is the result of my standard of living vs. my future expectations. An algorithm that ended up producing a sizable debt load early in my career. Phase one of this scenario was when I graduated from college, and with the help of family connections got a solid entry level job on a trading desk and a top tier investment bank. I was pulling in a mid-five figure salary, which was respectable enough in the early 90s. I lied somewhat large, including a bachelor pad with 2 roommates on Park Avenue south. It was a duplex that spilled onto the roof. Great for summer roof parties. Weekend house in the Hamptons. Dinners out, lots of travel, and needless to say, other then minimum 401 k contributions zippo savings.

I had never actually contemplate my career prior to landing on wall street and had really only landed there because the other things I had contemplated - being and architect, joining the marines, becoming a ski instructor - either didn't pan out or didn't hold the long-term potential I was looking for. Finding myself on Wall Street, after an initial adjustment, started to look pretty damn good. The way it seemed, a 5 figure salary would quickly become six figure and progress into the 7 figure range, whereby one would easily have enough to live and put enough aside an then retire by the age of forty. In the worse case, one could top out in the mid 6 figure and schlep to the office until one reached 50. I could live with that.

But as good as Wall Street was treating me I also felt the struggle and the competition to stay ahead. The place where I worked I somehow felt I arrived at the tail end of the boom and that meant I was somehow last in line for a promotion. So I decided at the suggestion and advice of my father to go to business school. He helped me quite a bit and I networked through his connections, eventually getting accepted into NYU (despite a crap undergraduate GPA). He even offered to pay. But I, being stubborn, and wanting to be free of the purse strings, politely declined.

Not having any cash I borrowed the full tuition and living cost essentially borrowing about $100k in student loans. And of course if that wasn’t enough I could always break out the credit cards from time to time. Well, essentially time to time became breakfast lunch in dinner. I transforming from a wall street junior associate to a student my life style essentially transformed from a junior associate to a less junior associate, borrowing the month al they way. It was OK, when I graduated I would be making 6 figures and then mid six figure and the 7 figures. I was all cool.

The stress of the bankrupting process hit me as soon as I landed the 6 figure job which actually took me 18 months longer than expected due to a quasi volunteer program run by US Aid which enable me to get into the emerging market world. My initial excitement at making more money than ever was immediately dampened by the USD 1000 a monthly payment, and even worse the $27k of credit card dept, ugh. After 2 years of that job - as a result of the ruble cash, Asian contagion, and the bursting of the emerging market bubble - I was essentially back on the street. What did I have to show for it - nothing! Virtually no more savings than the living expenses required until I was ready to start my next job, wherever that would be. But my credit cards were paid off at least

And so the story goes. One professor from b-school always warned us that forecasting, whether it your salary or the company’s revenue is not like clicking an dragging on a spread sheet cell, watching things go from point a to point B in a nice straight line.

Well the story ended well. Because I explained to my wife that the bankrupting process should help us have information to make decisions. We immediately sat down and discussed our finances and all of a sudden learned that we did not need to pay a EUR 1800 tax bill from the rental income we received from an apartment we rent out. Good surprise cancels out bad surprises.

Further budget reveals a small if sound portfolio of stock and real estate, 7 months of living expenses for a rainy (which could come sooner rather the later in the current economic environment), money for the new grill, enough to finish of the kid room and the bathroom, winter and summer vacation covered, cloth shopping for me and my wife, and a little left over for a nice present for my wife.

Ain't nothin' you can do to make it stop
'Cause money makes the world go 'round and the panties drop.

 

Day 17 - Figawe

Picture, if you will, the following scene in your mind's eye. Some dude from Boston is trying to sail a dingy from Nantucket to Cape Cod while on his summer vacation. It is a foregone conclusion he and his buds will get lost. The only question is what they will do when it happens.

The answer, apparently, is shout "where the Fuck are we!", in a down market Massachusetts accent, while desperately tryimg to hold off sinking into a full blown panic. When Translated into the colloquial, thus becomes "Where da Fig-a-wi" or "Figawi" for short.

Recalling my Nantucket experience, and my "unexpected" attendance at the Figawi in May 1997, brings to mind what seems to be an apt metaphor for being lost, both figuratively and literally. How one reacts in these situations can often be a matter of life and death. Likewise it's often the times when we land in the proverbial chicken shit that we come up with our best chicken salad ever.

This  is exactly what happened to the Figawi founders. In current times Figawi is now a big annual charity and race event taking place on Nantucket every summer. More recently attended by the baseball hat-docksider-Bermuda shorts-and raybans-wearing Bostonian hoi polloi, it is now a black tie affair attended by the likes of Ted Kennedy even in the midst of his cancer battle.

As I said I went to the Figawi once. It was the beginning of an auspicious summer where it seemed like one silly adventure another, all of which started innocently enough, but gravitated into a downward trajectory until we barely made it of the island with our physical safety and criminal records still in tact. If I had to have a name for my summer on Nantucket it would be "Figwawi Tankin" as in what the fuck were we thinking when we: jumped the cash desk (and the 50 dollar cover) at the Figawi Clam bake, leaving with the dates of a couple of arrogant Boston yuppies; drove my parents station wagon into the ditch after drinking the bottle of mescal on father’s day; brought bloody marries to work in our thermoses; slept on the floor in a motel laundromat like homeless folks during a road trip to Cape c\Cod so we could see a show with band America; regularly smoked left handed cigarette on the roof of the Wahwinnut inn, (where we had summer jobs as part  of the reconstruction crew); challenged the local gas station owner to call the police after we drove away with the nozzle still in the gas tank (they called, the police took the their side), and so on.

Our piece de resistance of the summer, however, was when we left personally crafted "presents"  (not with our hands, mind you) for our ex-roommates in strategic locations around our rental house (like the lower left hand crisper drawer in the fridge). This was to show our appreciation for them not letting us sublet our room to Johnny, the 50-year old alcoholic, African American colleague who got kicked out of his own house for cheating on his wife or stealing from his neighbor, or something. Johnny worked construction with us (when he wasn't getting fired for being drunk or absent). We thought Johnny was cool because he could grill a mean blue fish and mix a killer vodka cranberry cocktail, so we thought he would be a really cool roommate, at least for our existing roommates. 

Needless to say this last adventure of the summer didn't end so well. We thought we would get away before the presets were discovered. But alas, just as we were pulling away, Hervie opened up the damn crisper drawer, where our gift awaited , in all its brown, steamy glory, appropriately textured, half way between a lumpy-firm and formless-soft consistency. Perfect for the purpose we had in mind, might I add. I can still picture him through the window, furiously searching, just knowing we wouldn't depart without leaving a good bye token of our appreciation. Just as we were scrambling for the getaway I saw he was opening the fridge. Surely when would start rifling through drawers, and I knew the gig was up. As it scary as this was though, watching him discover yet another of our gifts on the hood of his car provided a comical context to the situation.  We were all making like a  Starsky and Hutch film now, having a full blown car chase down to the ferry, and yet the temporary hood ornament we had so generaously bestowed, was staring at us in the rearview mirror. Let’s just say part of managed to see the humor in this

The situation neared the edge of real disaster when my roommate pulled his Swiss army knife on poor Hervie, admittedly in self defense. Slightly scary in the moment, very soon after it was nothing but comic heroism. In hind sight, as all the other potential outcomes of this college prank gone awry flash through my mind, I can only call it truly frightening. Once again, the phrase "what the Figwawi Tankin" comes to mind

So why do I mention all this crap about my zany college days? Because I think it speaks to the nature of the journey.  You don't always know where you are and that's ok. But occasionally you do need to ask your self - where da Figawi. In doing so it is important to recognize where you are coming from and where you want to get to. The nature of the Journey is typically one of moving forward, not of returning to places we've already been. And certainly it is my case as I have yet to get back to Nantucket, for both the obvious reasons and otherwise. That said, I am keen to make it back to Nantucket, perhaps to have a proper vacation at the Wahwinnut Inn

So for me, today seems like a good day for asking the question “where the Figawi”, in terms of my resolutions. My first resolution was to get healthy, so let me document what I have done so far

· visited the doctor 2x in \Kiev and arrange for one more follow-up follow ups

· Researched and found through colleagues recommendation a good physical therapist who is also a licensed MD - (guy even helped Chad, the drummer from RHCP

· Visited the doctor 2 xs in Bratislava, got my blood tested and a follow up with good results!

Still missing:

· wart lady and wart medicine

· Dentist (ugh:()

· lung function test

· therapy session with the family constellations guy

· thyroid nothing

· blood pressure nothing

Progress on other 11 resolutions:

1.      lose weight: getting ready - diet so-so, exercise so-so, results so-so - at least \I have a plan

2.      Open a business - spoke with an accountant, discussed with Eva

3.      Play guitar - zip

4.      Time with boys - laser tag 1x, football 1x, birthday dinner  (more board games and less video games)

5.      photography - zippo

6.      Languages - some lessons and some homework - by far not enough!

7.      Hobbit 1x, Write a novel - got an idea . . .

8.      The novel - one really killer idea!

9.      Become an LSS MBB: one test 100% - better hurray!!!!! (Man was I (drunk and) lazy thus weekend!)

10.  Stay employed: so-so, some steps on project portfolio and pipeline, some steps on networking (Jeff S, Schmid, Jan, Linked in, Zuzka)

11.  Phd: (Panic!. On case study - outline, and some task related - too slow!!!

Day 16 - Business lounge

Nothing says "I'm a business man" like the business lounge (well, ok, the private jet certainly does) . . . . other markers of the true executive  . . . mont blanc pens (why do cross pens somehow not do it?) . . . the leather valise (a pleather, wheely style carry on? mon dieu!). . . . the smart phone, and more importantly how you use it (i.e., are you closing a deal? furiously following up on that really important e-mail? Or just playing word mole) . . . how you dress counts (the jacket half of a really expensive suit, along with expensive shirt and shoes and jeans, is a statement. Have always wondered where the suit pants go and how they don't get wrinkled). More importantly, though, is how you undress, as in undressing for security . . . gotta be quick, crisp, business like. But not too pushy . . . have a smile and quick wit for the cutie operating the scanner. And don't let the guy who's gotta frisk you get your goat . . . a wink and a nod to the hottie coming in behind, and a knowing smirk to the rest of the crew, look at these these other schmuks who just don't "'get it'".

One of the most difficult things about travelling is holding back on the free drinks and salty snacks at the biz lounge. 2nd most difficult thing is doing real work! Butta gotta be strong! Some days I am, others I am not - - some times I go halfsies . . .

Day 15 - Acid

Reflecting on my doctor's visit and the fat loss program I purchased on Saturday I've now decided everything is down to too much acid in the body. Acid shits down the liver and the colon and that keeps toxins' in the body. No digestion, and whola, you feel like crap all the time and gain weight (and likely drown your sorrows in junk food and booze . . . )

Interestingly, I was telling this to a friend of mine who who has some problems in the past with acidic issues. When he drinks hard cider, eats anything with lemon, and especially if he eats bacon, he becomes debilitated by the pain in his joints . . .

So need to come up with some anti-acid strategies!

Day 14 - Lost

Kiev, Ukraine is not so different then Bratislava. Slavic languages, Slavic peoples, European post socialist culture . .  .by somehow it makes me feel utterly lost, like other worldly lost. I cannot speak the language, I don't know how to get around, and it's just plain colder . .  .  it is really enough to make me give up.

Was at the doctor's today and the poor guy (doctor) who is supposed to speak English barely does. Nice guy though. I really wonder what I am doing. Kind of feel like I am wasting my time. nevertheless I successfully go through the motions and organize additional appointments for next week. We'll see how it goes . . .

The good news is it was a VERY exciting NFL weekend. Still shaking from all the drama, and lack of sleep. Getting at at the office and I am hungary and tired, decisions . . . sushi out or salad in? Hmmmm . . . .

Day 13 - Measuring performance

Well this one is certainly not a one time post. But before getting philosophical let's get practical and now. How'm I doing so far this year? Hard to tell. Gut is providing different feelings. What about the stats? Well maybe that's the problem. I don't really have any.  Have in the past tried to user a system focusing on 5 factors - sleep, exercise, alcohol intake, diet and water intake. This metric was only focused on weight loss, though. Given the many goals I have this year will have to focus on other dimensions. How not to over complicate it? Howe to make it practical and easy? How to make it effective?

Will have to come back to this topic. This is after all NFL playoff weekend so will catch some more ball before hitting the sack (at around 1:43am :( after 3 beers :((.

Day 12 - Early bird get's the worm

The word cliche tends to have negative implications. He or she is such a cliche. Winter in palm peach - oh what a cliche. Yeah, that person is funny, but there always talking in cliches. Did you read his book? It was so awful! One cliche after another! In defense of cliches, cliches are cliches for a reason . . .

So, does the early bird really get the worm? Apparently so. Based on my childhood friend's (Tom Grasty) Facebook post, successful CEOs typically get up at 4:30 http://www.businessinsider.com/executives-who-get-up-early-2013-1 and just keep rockin' all day. Perhaps this is because they are part of the Sleepless Elite? I read this other article recently, as well http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748703712504576242701752957910.html (interesting that I read two articles 'accidentally' on a subject I have been blogging about recently? What doe this mean? What is the universe telling me? Probably that I should stop surfing the net and get back to work!). 


Well all of this is timely stuff, and not only because I happened to be up at 4:30 in the morning when I read it, but because, let's face it, we all have ambitions.  And most of us have seen the road kill of our ambitions once or twice riding down that well worn highway better known as memory lane. What I mean, is that we all have hopes and dream and big ideas that just never happen. And, as some of you may recall, that for me personally, I laid out some pretty big ones for year 2013. But what if I had more time? The possibilities are beginning to become endless. So let's just say the article piqued my interest.

So, rather then do what I would normally do at 4:30 on a Saturday morning in the middle of January, with a (very) slight hangover, and away from home on business - which is a number of self gratification options more or less centered around sleep and the Internet - I instead get my sorry ass out of the sack, make myself a very healthy breakfast of sheep's yogurt, apple, breakfast tea, and whole grain toast with a dab of organic olive oil (actually the olive oil is not really organic but decided to sneak that in there since none of you would ever be able to call me on it - but more on oils in a future post). While enjoying this healthy breakfast (really - try it!) I came up with my task list for the day. It goes something like this:

• Study Russian - 1 hour
• Go to gym - 2 hours
• Story board a presentation - 1 hour
• catch up on e-mails - 1 hour
• Plan my week - 1 hour
• Blog - one hour
• Update my CV - 2 hour
• Shopping - 3 hours

That's 12 hours and I need to get to the pub at 8pm for dinner and the Denver vs. Baltimore game, but it seems I have time for all that and time to spare (well, not now, but I did at 5:56 am when I wrote it. It's now 8:40 - seems I didn't schedule 90 minutes of reading yahoo articles about the Patriots highly rated cheerleader squad.). Well if I get more than half of that list done will still feel pretty good!

But back to sleep. One of the key issues is the biological needs vs. habits. I have long ago given up on the fantasy that I need 4 to 6 hours. I need my 8. Just can't seem to get to bed by 10pm. How F'ing boring is life if you go to bed at 10pm? What does one actually do in bed at 10pm?!? (oh, wait, there are actually some pretty fun and exciting things you can do in bed at 10pm - must keep revisiting this theme). So if I am a biological 8 hour sleeper I need to form good sleep habits - this will be tough. Have been trying and failing for years. There is of course alternative solutions other than those mother nature gave us. Drugs for example. I'm talking about the legal ones. I remember life on prednisone. Never in my personal and professional life have I been so productive as during these days (imagine a grown heterosexual man reorganizing the cook books and household manuals on a mere whim!). And then some years ago I heard that ADHD medication helps. My sister once read an article about it in New Yorker and was going to get herself diagnosed in order to get her hands on these new wonder drugs. It was a trend for awhile. She never got around to it, apparently, but will have to check back on that one.

Day 11 - Rough day

Woke up in the middle of the night in a panic last night about work. What if I don't sell a new project soon? What if  I fail? What if other colleagues are better then I am? What will people think? What will the say?

Last time I had this happen was when I was in 5th grade and was worried about making the football team and being good at sports (I did, I was). Will this seem as silly one day, as that did then? Hmmm. Funny thing. I had a dream about one colleague in particular. Ended up having more or less the same conversation in the office as I did in the dream. It was the dream that bought on the panic attack, actually . . .

Day 10 – Beam me up Scottie

Day 10 – Beam me up Scottie

Today was my first day back to the office. I can only describe the transition from Bratislava to Kiev as other worldly. I mentioned this to my colleague from Slovakia and at first he didn’t get it. I knew he wouldn’t, so I at first asked him, “Do know the expression ‘beam me us Scotty,”? Yes (clearly he didn’t). You know, from star trek? Yes. Still not getting’ it. You know star trek, right? No, I don’t know this, what is this? So I explained how these guys from the sci-fi show had this machine that could magically (although it was real technology) transport you from a space ship to any planet in the galaxy. Uh huh. And that this was how I felt, further explaining and the analogy being my home (i.e. on the star ship enterprise) and being in Kiev, i.e. the strange planet. He laughed for real. Now he got it got it . .  .

How to explain why travelling from one strange city to another is like interplanetary travel? Lotta baggage on board, I suppose . . . (no pun intended!). Hmm, that remind me to also explain how the yogurts I was carrying short circuited my computer . . .

Day 9 – Continuous improvement

I love continuous improvement almost as much as I love planning. Improvement has always struck me as more noble then say talent. It ratifies the notion that hard work can get you places even if you lack god given gifts for a paticular thing. Which has always seem to be my case. I'm not a good athlete but always seemed to get the trophy for "most improved" rather then most valuable player. My mom always said that was better. Didn't really take her seriously when I was a kid but am starting to see her point a bit better in middle age. 

I  am especially addicted to lists. Like Stephen Covey’s 7 habits you can always find a handful of habits, steps or keys to anything you want in life, whether its 6 pack abs or personal financial success. You can also get these in the negative – as in 8 things not to say in your annual evaluation, job interview, to your wife or girlfriend, etc.

I am not suggesting that the addiction is entirely healthy and I am not so naïve as think that all internet advice is good advice but here are some good ones out there. If nothing else they make you think and provide confirmation of one’s own lists. There's the entertainment value as well.

Speaking of lists, I’ve noticed they tend to be in the range of 7 or 8. Seven habits, 7 deadly sins (and wait! There’s an 8^th! Someone’s always adding (their own personal) 8^th as if they’ve just discovered the Rosetta stone. . . ).  Bringing this point home, I got on the plane to return to Kiev and picked up an FT in the business lounge. Sure enough columnist Luke Johnson has his own list of excuses why entrepreneurs never get their venture off the ground. He call's it the Enemies of Achievement. And while he doesn’t count them, I went ahead and did. There are eight.

But lists can be longer. There is the famous 12 step program. A very good book on thinking, by John C. Maxwell, lists 11 types of thinking that supposedly successful people follow. Rules for life (Richard Templar) goes up to 100, and Life lessons for raising a boy  (Harry H Harrison) totals, 314, although they are summarized by 5 keys. A friend posted a list from Regina Brett who has somewhere between 42 and 45 lessons of life, plus 5 extra (in Louisiana they call that a Lagniappe!). Of course the lists and treasure troves of lessons are endless, but that doesn’t mean they're all bad. That doesn’t  mean they're all good either. The list, everything I need to know in life I learned in kindergarten, for example, strikes me as suspicious, even though all the mothers keep praising it. May have to go back and see.

For now I am sticking to lists of 7 and 12. I like these because they represent natural cycles, i.e. the week or month. And I think cycles give you a clear way to structure your CI activities. My list of 7 is the areas of my life where I do my planning. I segment my goals and to-do lists according to this. The list goes like this:

-          Family (includes Home projects and household activities)

-          Finance

-          Social (friends)

-          Health (Fitness)

-          Career (or Field / Future)

-          Hobbies (could be Fun)

-          Service (or Faith if you’re the religious type)

So funny, I’ve come up with this list on my own starting in 2000 and have revised as above, only to see something similar on a friend’s blog. On a whim I googled “7Fs” and sure enough there they are! Kind of like Tesla and Edison simultaneously inventing the light bulb.

For personal goals I use 12 – one for each month. The idea is that you work on all twelve goals simultaneously but you really focus on one during each month. Borrowed this one on the advice of a lawyer (Gretchin Rubin) turned writer who wrote a book, I believe titled the happiness project.

Day 8 – On sleep

Sleep is important. Duh! So why can’t I get it right? Most of us need our 8 hours, but many of us don’t get it. Some need less. Many people say they need less but are “BS”ing us. Yeah, I don’t sleep much. I only need 2 hours a night. That’s how I have time to be a CEO, a tri-athlete and do a cooking show on cable twice a week. Yeah, that’s Bike Billy. I’m a fan.

The other thing about sleep is the timing. Hours before midnight count double. For example if I fall asleep at 11 and wake up at 6, I get my 8 hours (24-23 = 1*2=2+6=8), as opposed to 7 hours (24-23= 1*1=1+6=7). I love math. You can explain anything with it.

I need 8 hours, but find it hard to get consistently. And yet every New Years I keep telling myself the cornerstone of everything is sleep. I think the problem with sleep is that in anticipation it seems so boring, and the beginning is so hard, and yet at the end it becomes so exciting, important and earth rattling. In a way it’s kind of the opposite of food and sex. In these activities it’s all about the anticipation (many hours), preparation (up to an hour), and beginning moments (10s of minutes).  Then we’ve had enough. We are spent, can’t possibly go on.  I think this happens with sleep but rarely. We can always use more. We can always go on. Most of us have an equally infinite, lack of, and capacity to regain, sleep.

When it comes to going to bed I am a super procrastinator. Work. Internet. Sometimes TV. Puzzles and games (a waste for sure but I’m hopelessly drawn to it). Even the getting ready for bed becomes an act of procrastination. The wart on my pinky toe, which both my wife and doctor have been nagging me to take care of, becomes infinitely intriguing at 11:45 pm, when it’s times to go to bed. This is equally true about the old collection of razor blades on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet, which always seem to call for evaluation and reorganization in the minutes before midnight.

Alcohol and sports have been the key distractions this holiday season. I had a business trip on the 3^rd and was in bed reading before midnight and even put down my book before my wife did at around 23:30. But then the next night I needed to polish of the really good South African Shiraz leftover from our dinner party. And then just one extra finger of scotch to put a coda on the evening. It’s the holidays after all. At bed at 1:45, up at 9:45.

The next day was worse. Dinner party. More wine and more scotch. And then wildcard weekend! Ravens vs. Colts. Cheese heads vs. Vikings. If you're in CET time zone the late game kicks off at 2:30am. And when that‘s done there's the game of backgammon. The e-mails to check. Just one story on yahoo. Just one video on YouTube. And, oh, that looks  interesting . . . and then its 5:45 and I wake up at 10:30am. Next night it’s Washington vs. Seattle. Bed at 2am up at 11am. And finally, I wasn’t planning to watch BCS final (tide vs. Irish) but my schedule was off and  I couldn’t sleep . . . to bed at 00:45, up at 3;00, and back to bed again at 4:30am, up again at 9:30, but too tired, so back to bed until 11am. From now on in its early to bed, early to rise, makes a mane healthy wealthy and wise. Never did understand morning people . . .

Day 7 – I beg your pardon, I never promised you a rose garden (or the mystery of the missing suit pants)

"(I Never Promised You A) Rose Garden"

(as played on the radio on my way back (2^nd time) from the tailor)

I beg your pardon, I never promised you a rose garden,
Along with the sunshine, there's gotta be a little rain sometime . . . .

. . . . So smile for a while and let's be jolly, love shouldn't be so melancholy
Come along and share the good times while we can . . .

-Joe South/Lynn Anderson

“Everything turns out all right in the end. If it’s not all right, it’s not the end.”  From the movie The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

Unfortunately today’s post is about Freak out number 2 – yes the Larry –Curly-Mo machine in high gear. The mysteriously disappearing item this time was my suit pants. I took three suits to the tailor to get taken in (the 10 k from last year), but when I was getting ready to leave, there was somehow only 2 ½ suits. The pants that belonged to one of the suits was mysteriously gone. The very chatty discussion with the shop ladies suddenly went momentarily quiet. Where the f*** are my pants! What the f**ck did you do with them! That’s not what I actually said. And I hope that that’s not what they thought I was thinking. But it might’ve been. And the look on my face probably gave me away slightly. But, but, but . . . they were right here . . . wha, wha, where’d they go!?! Their expressions, at this point, were slightly defensive. Look. See? They’re not there . . .  Yea I know that, so where did you put them! Again, from my perspective, the thought was just more brainstorming ideas in my head, than actual directives, even in the telepathic sense. I am not sure it was perceived that way, however.

Now, I didn’t have a freak out right away. I called my wife to see if they were at home (I knew they wouldn’t be). I also walked along the sidewalks to see if I dropped them (that’s everybody’s conclusion, by the way. “Well maybe the pants slipped off the hanger? No, they didn’t fuckin' slip off the fucking hangar! Yes I know they are slippery, that's why I carefully hold and watch them when I walk the five fucking steps to the shop and I would fuck-ing notice if they fell because they would hit my leg, and I’d feel it, and besides they're fat man's pants so they’d be easy to see. Well it’s possible, right? Well, technically yes. But look, that couldn’t happen, because someone else would see them and tell me. Oh you really think so? What about some homeless man? Now I’m freaking because I don’t have the patience to logically debate the fact that I’m surrounded by nice friendly shoppers. The honest kind. Like the cab drivers who return suitcases of 100 dollars left behind by drug dealers. These are Slovaks, they’re niiiccce people. Even the hhhoomelessssss. (Especially the homeless).

Well, this goes on for several hours. I tear apart the house. I walk around every sidewalk I possibly could have traversed in my walkabout to get to the tailor (we’re talkin' about 47 meters of combined sidewalk – 7 at my place, and 40-ish at the tailor. I even harangued the poor parking lot attendant. At last I was relegated to drawing flow charts and probability trees in my mind. The flow chart I’m thinking about was pretty funny or cool when someone posted it on face book a few months ago, but now it’s really pissing me off. You’ve probably seen it. It goes like this: Do you have a problem? Arrow. (yes /no diamond). More arrows. Can you do something about it (yes/no)? finally all arrows leading to Don’t worry. (insert Bobby McFerrin link).  OK. This does NOT work. I try probability trees. Level 1: Probability the pants are in this world - 100%. Level 2: Probability they’re in Slovakia - 100%. Level 3: they are in my house - 0.00001%, in the car - 0%, in the street with a homeless man - Not buying it. Probability they are in the shop? 8^th grade statistics and logic clearly  suggests - 99.9999%.

All this logic has me really fired up and I'm doing the Larry Mo and Curly moves where they slap their faces, wag their tongues and make unusual, loud, and high pitched noises. As always happens in these situations my wife things I’m blaming her. Why would I do that? Just because she doesn’t believe me that the lady in the shop took it? I calm down enough to ask her to call the ladies and explain the complex message in her native tongue to the native shop keepers that, hey, maybe they mixed my pants in with some other cloths? Maybe they were holding them for a minute and put them down when they went back for a cigarette break, etc. I mean the whole place is full of cloths, how hard could it be to get them mixed up? Will you just look for them good damn it?!? I came back a minute later to get an update, and she had already made the call, so clearly it was too short of a call to really get the message properly communicated. Well? So, are they looking for it? They say it’s not there. But did they actually look?! I don’t know, I can’t really ask them to look, you know. if it’s there they’ll find them . . . Oh. Yeah. Like the IPod that was in the lunch box hidden from the kids and we didn’t find it for 6months?! Or the new phone we got R for x-mas that was in the cosmetic bag and we couldn’t find it for a week?! A brand new phone for euro 160 for an 11-year-old! Or the camera which was left in the picnic basket for a month and you called me hysterical for constantly asking you where it was??? Or the time it was in your “other” purse and you couldn’t find in time for the x-mas party?!? Another fuse blows. Again I am being asked why I am blaming her. I am not blaming her and I am not mad at her! I am just plain mad!! To prove this I go around and tell every one of the plants, one-by-one to fuck-off. This kind of works. So I do it again. I feel even better. Then it dawns on me what the Austrian hypnotist really means about how, when I lose my keys, I feel unacceptable. That is CORRECT. This situation is unacceptable! NOT ME. I AM PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE. It’s the situation that’s unacceptable! Now the plants, being the good listeners that they are, happily get a bonus lecture on what it means to be unacceptable.

I calm down enough to explain the logic of my freak outs (which are the bane of our marriage) to my wife. Honey. I know that this is bad behavior, but the situation is unexplainable, and that is unacceptable, and that makes me mad. And then I feel like freaking out, and then I get more nervous. And when I TRY TO CALM DOWN I realize I am ruining my day and that gets me even madder. And then I try to look at the big picture and say, so what, it’s a new suit, 500 bucks for a new suit, it’s a rounding error on my monthly pay check. I just gave a homeless man 500 Euro! FuuuCkkkk! Then I can’t handle myself and I’m about to blow. Self loathing is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Arrgghhhh! The full evolution and gestation cycle of a freak out laid out in slightly jittery fashion. This somewhat calmer explanation is practically enough so that now, she really can see the true nature of my helplessness. She is momentarily sympathetic. Can I make you lunch? Are you kidding! How I can think about food at a time like this! At this point we agree in a fairly calm manner that yes, it is sensible, given that probability tree  that I’ve drawn up in my mind, that I should go down town, one more time, and no I shouldn’t worry that the shopper keepers will turn me in for being a stalker, and no my wife doesn’t need to call beforehand to explain all this to them. Off I go. Don’t think about the pants or you might have an accident (my wife). I try to not let this one set me off again and say OK and quickly leave.

Well, no dice on that one. And I do think they actually were concerned I was a stalker, stalking there second hand Italian clothing (I kept looking on all the racks to see if someone put them there by mistake, you know like the ladies who push the carts with the returned library books). It got a little awkward. (In my most sheepish voice) is there any chance it could be on that shelf? (the one behind the register). (Shopkeeper, without turning around) one hundred percent  it is not on that shelf. At this point I was wise enough to hold back my telepathic rhetorical question. Oh really? And how many times did you check? Because that’s exactly what my wife said until I made her check the picnic basket for the third time and ya know what? On the third time she checked, 100 percent it was freakin there! Yea, so I turned tail, went home and repeated the plant lecture series.

Later, while going for a run, I started to get that feeling, the one Hollywood actors call cathartic. In Hollywood I think feeling cathartic is how when actors and actresses make an inspiring film about someone else's life story, it makes them feel better after having an adulterous affair with their co-star on their previous film. For me it’s more like, So what, I got problems like everyone else. What? Did I think I was special? Deal with it, dude. Then I started to wonder whether I was supposed to get some sort of meaning out of this. What was the lesson? Was this a teachable moment? Maybe I should learn from this and thank some higher force for guiding me through life. Then all the gurus I’ve ever read about started flashing through my head. Do I really believe all that stuff? I started to get nervous, a little confused, and almost angry again, so I just ran harder.

Day 6 – Weighing in

I didn’t bother weighing myself on 1 Jan having woken up somewhere else. On 2 Jan was 97kg, by my scale, which really means 99 kilos or 218 pounds. My fighting weight is 185 – 190 so I should really be aiming to lose 33 pounds, yet my new year’s resolution goal is 22 – so I’ve got a buffer!

Having lost about 10 kilos last year have rediscovered the obvious – losing weight requires eating less and exercising more. Surprisingly, the eating has the biggest impact. Creating rules however has never been a successful way to achieve anything. One has to want to do it, by actually being compelled by one’s own inner forces. For me discipline has always been the opposite - sending me in a different direction then originally intended. So there has to be some non-negotiables, supplemented with compromises. Coffee – but no milk.  Three meals a day – but no snacking; alcohol whenever, where ever – but two weeks on the wagon every quarter, and drinking lots of water; avoid steak, lamb, shell fish and rich, fatty foods – except during holiday and vacation – whoohoo!

This holiday season was kicked off by picking up a bottle of my favorite scotch, The Balvenie, at the duty free in Borispal, Kiev’s international airport. After a traditional Christmas Eve with fish and cabbage soup (kapustnica), Christmas kicked it into high gear with pan fried Hungarian goose liver followed by roasted duck, with homemade Austrian knudle-style dumplings, washed down with a selection of South African wines. We opened up with Chenin Blanc, a light dry white wine. Then moved on to a light and fruity Pinot noir with a very clean finish. Next, a pair of full bodied Shiraz’s. The first, which I really liked, had an oakier pallet, with hints of cinnamon and forest berries. The second, was actually better, although similar, but with an overall rounder finish, with deep notes of cherry. We finished with a cabernet sauvignon and of course a healthy slug or two of the single malt.

This continued several days later with a beautiful aged Irish Angus filet. After some recent experimenting, I finally discovered the perfect way to prepare it. Sear it on the outside with a generous crust of fresh ground pepper and rock salt, caramelized with a thin soy sauce and olive oil glaze. Then leave under the broiler just long enough to ensure an evenly colored reddish pink juicy center. The trick is to cook it in one piece and then sliced at an angle ensuring the crust is just thick enough to complement the meat but not over power it. A similar selection of wine and whisky to go with, of course, followed by my sister’s famous New Orleans style bandy crème brule.

Because things were getting a bit too meaty we decided to finish the holidays with family friends and opted instead for seafood pasta. This particular dish I used to make a number of years ago in my parent’s kitchen but have not attempted it lately. The sauce is based from roasted red peppers which are blended with lemon juice, white pepper (gives it a kick), and just a bit of dill. Fresh Saint Jacobs scallops (big ones, about two inches wide and inch and a half thick) are broiled in garlic and oil gently under the flame for  couple of minutes a side, Tiger prawn are grilled in the oven as well (for the kids). Served over angel hair pasta and with a scallop and shrimp julienne according to individual taste.

Alas – the ol’ gout is kicking in. From here on out it’s sheep’s yogurt for breakfast, shitake mushroom with leeks and spinach for lunch, and fish for dinner every night. A least for a little while . . .

Day 5 - Freak outs (or The keys, The clock, and The apartment house)

My first freak out of the year was yesterday. Freak outs, for me personally, and for the whole family are simultaneously frightening, embarrassing, tragic, sad, tumultuous and cathartic. If this seems overly dramatic, I assure you, I exaggerate only slightly. I wouldn’t want to get too detailed on what happens when I actually have a freak out, I just couldn’t handle it. But I do have a kind of mental picture I can draw, which is both reasonably accurate, but not so pathetic as it really is. The picture is basically the three stooges on crystal meth. Except the three stooges are only one person, like they’re kind of fused together  - Larry, Curly and Mo – all just kind of buzzing around in their own special tizzy. Hopefully that paints a picture, or at the very least lends itself to the general direction of a freak out event in our house.

Freak outs are almost 100% brought on by misplacing a fairly basic, but essential item, typically house keys. It can also be eye glasses, a favorite tee-shirt or sock, a magazine article, the remote (goodness don’t we all know that one!), or a receipts for a bottle of wine I drank on my flight home which I’m contemplating whether or not to claim on my next expense report. In this particular case it was the company’s wireless adaptor and memory stick I needed to return to my local office before transferring to my new assignment. By returning these items I would successfully receive a signature on a special form called the “leavers checklist”. And subsequently, by completely the leaver’s checklist, would be entitled to receive the outstanding balance of salary, vacation and expenses. Which in turn are equally intertwined with household bills, holiday shopping, the new grill, and the recently considered spring vacation in a warm sunny destination. In one brief, but very swift moment a misplaced “computer accessory” became the equivalent a month and-a-half's salary being flushed down the toilet - then the circuits break and I blow a fuse.

It’s a regular pattern since my earliest days and I’m still trying to figure it out. The closet I’ve gotten is an Austrian hypnotist (not exactly, but that is the best way I can describe it for now) who has gotten me to anchor these feelings with a simple symbol – my house keys. When I have them, which is most of the time I feel calm. Because I almost always have them, I am in fact a calm person. But sometimes I don’t, and I feel otherwise. That otherwise in my case is ‘unacceptable’. If I can relieve my feelings of being ‘unacceptable’, and anchor my reality of being calm, something changes. This is where I am at the moment. I also have two other “emotional pairs” and corresponding symbols. These are feelings of bitterness vs. being secure, symbolized by “home” or a house; and feelings of being overwrought vs. being prepared and willing, symbolized by a clock. (reminder _ attach lost keys scene from another happy day)

Day 4 – On planning

I’ve always been big on planning. My wife, among others, thinks I’m too big on it. I’m guessing this reflects to some degree the approach du jour for many, in all walks of life, which is typically “JFDI” (just f***ing do it). I generally don’t subscribe to this. This is probably why I have a reputation for being academic and theoretical. Oh well.

About ten years ago I took Franklin Covey course, precipitated, I can only guess, by some pre-pubescent infatuation with planning. Really enjoyed that. After spending about 300 bucks on the course one finds it irresistible to spend another 500 on binders and fillers and little rulers and special calculators that fit in the non standard binders. What I learned from this is to always save the free annual diary some client or supplier gives you for Christmas every year. I Still have my leather bound FC planner, though. Looks great on the shelf and still houses all my  relatives’ phone numbers and addresses from wherever it was they lived 12 years ago.

But seriously folks, as my colleagues and former students know, I am a big fan of the Stephen Covey and the FC approach. From Stephen Covey – “begin with the end in mind”. This is all about the grand vision, which I suggest is somewhat underrated these days, given societies propensity towards the task-oriented end of the spectrum. And of course, “sharpen the saw”. After the vision one must execute, and is subsequently very tired, and must reenergize (think “Ibiza!”). This is my, and I suspect many of your, favorite habit . The other five, are about execution. Can’t remember them just now. Think I’ll look them up on-line at some point, and suggest you do the same!

Ben Franklin (The F in FC) also had some good ones. The one that clearly comes to mind is “a place for everything and everything in its place”. This is in fact the most clear and succinct explanation for one of the more trendy components of the still trendy Lean Manufacturing philosophy, called 5S (and to think companies are still paying consultants millions to give them such advice! Thank goodness!).

But I digress. Back to planning. Planning is often criticized because in hindsight nobody ever uses plans once they are made. And we all know, that if we bothered to look at them, they don’t look anything like what actually happened. I think this holds equally true in war, as in weddings and everything in between. Some of my favorite quotes on planning:

 “Plans are of little importance, but planning is essential” – Winston Churchill.

“In preparing for battle, I have always found that plans are useless but planning indispensable” – Dwight Eisenhower.

“The 7 Ps - Piss poor planning produces piss poor performance” – from an old war movie.

My personal favorite, although not necessarily to the original point, “Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the face.”  - Mike Tyson.

And finally, one coined by yours truly, “let’s find out what good planning has to offer”. A couple of years ago, on a big family reunion to the US I tried to get very organized and plan all our families’ activities. I think this is how I phrased my initial plan to do some planning. I am often reminded of this by my sister (usually accompanied by hysterical laughter. (Although slightly mocking, she endorses the concept!)).

So one of the things I will need to do now, and throughout the year is better planning. At the moment I am very good at making lists and keeping them in as few places as possible. At times they are transferred to notebooks, xls spread sheets, word documents or MS outlook, but always end up back in the annual planning diary. I think a little Internet research on the topic may be in order. Will be back with more thoughts on what is best and perhaps a few tips and tricks.