Rule 2

Trust Lasts Longer than Ammo

Rule 1

If You're Not Always Fighting for Your People, You're Wrong

Why do you get out of bed in the morning? Just to roll stones?

Bob Dylan’s 1997 song “Not Dark Yet” offers a keen observation undergirded by profound wisdom. Actually, it offers many keen observations about life and aging while the entire song is undergirded by profound wisdom, but I want to look at just one couplet and the second line of the couplet in particular.

I was born here and I’ll die here against my will

I know it looks like I’m moving, but I’m standing still

In these lines, the singer lets us know that his consciousness can never escape the pull of his origins, that his end will be a return to his beginning. No matter how much he does, no matter how far he goes, his life will end as it began — in opacity, in mystery, even, perhaps, in nothingness. All that movement that fills his life, and he will just end up where he started. Dylan’s view of life is nearly Sisyphean, that is if Sisyphus rolled his boulder up a steep incline just the once, scrambled after it as it tumbled back down, and promptly expired upon reaching the base of the hill.

One of my longtime mantras has been “hope for the best, prepare for the worst, and expect something in between.” That philosophy has stood me in good stead as the extremes — absolute good or absolute bad — occur only rarely and are usually nowhere as good or bad as we imagine.

James Joyce published the short story “Counterparts” in his 1914 collection, Dubliners. Perhaps you have read it. If not, I suggest you check it out although you will not need to do so to follow my argument here. The opening of “Counterparts” is set in the small legal office of Crosbie & Alleyne located in Dublin, naturally enough. Mr. Alleyne is the managing partner, and Farrington, the main character, is one of his clerks who reproduce legal documents by hand, a meticulous and horribly tedious job in a time before digital scanners and photocopiers or even electric typewriters and correction fluid.

Anyone who has taught on just about any level has heard a student or twelve whine some version of “but I worked oh-so very hard on it” after turning in a poor assignment. The student’s assumption is that putting in a great effort is tantamount to producing good work. They imagine that, upon hearing their woeful tale of travail, you will immediately raise their grade in the belief that indiscriminate exertion is the primary measure of quality.

And, let’s face it, we have all thought or said that the key to success is to work harder, but that claim, however heartfelt, is misleading.

99% PERSPIRATION - 1% INSPIRATION < GREAT SUCCESS

Here is the worst-kept dirty secret you already know. Effort, as quantifiable as it may be, is in no way a measure of quality.

An apocryphal story about the early days of NASA’s Apollo program has long made the rounds. Perhaps you have heard it. Many versions feature President John F. Kennedy touring a NASA facility, but that one seems too contrived. I will tell my preferred version with a good deal of embroidery.