Step by Step

How to build an interesting company:

1. Address a large market,

2. in an industry where most of the companies are either well behind the times or simply run by stupid people,

3. where well-tested ideas and best practices from other industries can be freshly applied,

4. to create both ROI and a positive impact on the world.

Instructions

When I was a junior in high school, AP US History and jazz band were held at the same time. As a result, I can play a mean bebop line, but I have a totally remedial understanding of US history.

Of course, as an avid devourer of information, I’ve filled in random patches along the way – a book here, a documentary there, hours of wikipedia trolling in between.

Often enough, my best source of information is to trace backwards from a quote. Find something interesting said, and odds are the person who said it was interesting too. Which is why, in the wake of yesterday’s post, I got curious about George Jean Nathan.

A renowned theater critic, and an eminently quotable one, he also put forth perhaps the best set of life instruction I’ve yet come across:

My code of life and conduct is simply this: work hard, play to the allowable limit, disregard equally the good and bad opinion of others, never do a friend a dirty trick, eat and drink what you feel like when you feel like, never grow indignant over anything, trust to tobacco for calm and serenity, bathe twice a day . . . learn to play at least one musical instrument and then play it only in private, never allow one’s self even a passing thought of death, never contradict anyone or seek to prove anything to anyone unless one gets paid for it in cold, hard coin, live the moment to the utmost of its possibilities, treat one’s enemies with polite inconsideration, avoid persons who are chronically in need, and be satisfied with life always but never with one’s self.

Listen

Back in college, I had a number of friends who regularly drank until they tossed their cookies. At Yale, this was referred to as ‘booting’, and was often used in the context of a much admired tactic, the ‘boot and rally’ – tossing your cookies, then going on to drink more.

Admittedly, I had my fair share of Yale’s liquor. But, even so, I could see that drinking to vomiting – much less keeping going after – was a patently bad idea. It smacked not only of poor judgement, but of poor kinesthetic sense. By my experience, a few drinks before the boot-inducing shot, I was always struck by a stomach feeling I can only describe as ‘reverse the engines!’ Which, in short, I took to be a sign that I had probably had enough to drink, and that having a few more drinks was unlikely to help matters.

I must admit that, once every few years, I lose sight of this simple truth. I vividly recall, for example, an early morning ride on the Metro North back from New Haven, on my way home from some alumni or business event. I don’t remember any longer what I drank the evening before, or how much, or even what the event itself might have been, but I can clearly picture standing in the swaying platform between cars, still wearing the suit I had trained up in, heaving my guts onto the rapidly moving rails below.

Which is to say, I’m not perfect. But I do try to listen to my body. I eat when I’m hungry, and I stop when I’m full. I exercise when I’m restless, and I stop before injuring myself. I drink water when I’m thirsty, and liquor when, as George Jean Nathan said, I need to make other people more interesting.

In short, I try to let both kinesthetic sense and common sense be my guide. Try it some time. You might be pleasantly surprised.

Inequilibrium

Early this week, struck by a slew of business insights, I spent three or four straight hours madly scribbling on yellow pads and wall whiteboards.

Certainly, this was a longer stint than most, but nearly all my good ideas, business successes, and small victories trace back to just such frenzied sessions of ‘Eureka!’ idea capture.

These bursts of thinking leave me energized to the point of manic, and I want, more than anything else, to share them. I want somebody else to get equally excited. And, unfortunately for her, the person who usually bears the brunt of that ecstatic, high-speed explaining is Jess.

Though Jess is the realist to my optimist, she’s kind enough to listen supportively, ask interested questions, and only later tell me the full list of problems she immediately sees that I haven’t even begun to consider.

Still, I can’t imagine it’s an easy task. Which might explain why, when Jess walked in to the office, and found me scrawling elaborate diagrams and flow charts on the wall, her first reaction was to roll her eyes, and say, “Beautiful Mind time, is it?”