In the day-to-day grind, it's easy to become jaded. You interact with people who under-deliver, who are unnecessarily difficult, or who simply don't seem to care.

I recently shared a quick thought about acknowledging positive experiences when working with others, prompted by the growing frequency of negative interactions that seem to overshadow the good. The thought stuck with me.

These effects of these negative experiences tend to accumulate and start to colour your perception of the world around you. Then, every once in a while, you come across someone who just gets it. Someone who does their job well and is genuinely pleasant to work with. It's rare, almost startling, and it will make your whole day.

Have I become too cynical? I know I have a bit of a sarcastic edge, but have always thought of it more as playful venting than a genuine outlook.

After dealing with enough poor experiences, the bar for professionalism and basic decency keeps sinking lower. So when you find someone who actually does their job with competence and courtesy, it feels like an anomaly. An encounter that's worthy of praise simply because it's so uncommon.

And in that moment you realise that this should be the norm, not the exception.

We've all been there; dealing with frustrating service providers, clients who don't value your time, or partners who fail to follow through. It's almost as if the standard for "good enough" has become far too low. So when you find someone who's reliable, respectful, and genuinely makes an effort, it's refreshing.

Here's the kicker: it's also quite sad.

The fact that these positive interactions stand out so much should give us pause. Good, professional behaviour and positive interpersonal interactions should be the baseline!

That's why when you come across someone who goes above and beyond, it's worth acknowledging. Not because it's a rare occurrence, but because we should be rewarding and reinforcing the kind of behaviour we want to see more of.

A simple "thank you" or a small gesture of appreciation can go a long way. It's not about grand gestures.

It's about recognising that, in a world where so many fall short, someone has the integrity to do it right.

So, next time you encounter someone who behaves professionally, or with kindness, take a moment to let them know. It's a small thing, but it can make all the difference.

A little recognition for doing it right goes a long way.

And for goodness' sake, make sure you're setting the right example yourself! Be courteous, and do a good job. We'll all be better for it.

Stephen

"I'll fire off an urgent email," they said. An oxymoron if ever there was one.*

Would you email 911 in an emergency? Of course not. Urgency demands immediate attention, and email simply doesn't deliver on that front because it is an asynchronous medium.

There's an inherent contradiction when we talk about time-sensitive emails. Even the most pressing email can sit in someone's inbox for hours without a response.

A phone call, on the other hand, can address the issue in seconds, ensuring that the urgency is met.

Now, don't get me wrong, the last thing I want is to start advocating for more phone calls; we all know the dread of an unexpected ring. Nevertheless, personal comfort must take a backseat if we want to be effective.


"Dear Sir/Madam, I'm writing to inform you of a FIRE which has broken out at the premises of..."

The asynchronous nature of email isn't a flaw. It just makes it unsuitable for situations that require quick action. If you need an immediate response, email simply can't deliver.

It is, however, the source of its greatest strength: convenience. This makes it a very efficient and effective communication tool for most situations. For both sender and recipient alike. You can write a message, hit send, and get a reply when the recipient has time, if at all necessary.

It's ideal for providing updates without interrupting workflows. It helps communication with teams across different time zones. It keeps a written record of otherwise undocumented informal discussions and decisions.

These are all non-urgent matters.

Here are some situations, besides urgency, where email is not the best choice:

• Complexity: Complex or sensitive issues are often better discussed in real-time, whether by phone, video call, or in person. Emails can lead to confusion or misinterpretation, especially if the subject matter is complicated.
• Back-and-forth: Similarly, if your email is likely to spark a long chain of responses, it may be more efficient to pick up the phone. Endless email threads often lead to miscommunications and slow down decision-making.
• Unlikely response: If the recipient isn't likely to read or respond to your email soon, you're better off choosing a different method of communication. A phone call, for instance, ensures a more immediate reply. Although in this case, the bigger question would be why a response is unlikely to be received, but that's a separate issue.

The goal in communication isn't just to send a message, but to ensure that the message is received, understood, and acted upon appropriately.

A time-sensitive email is just like whispering into the wind: ineffective, misplaced, and bound to be ignored when it matters most.

Worse still, it signals to others that you don't focus on delivering results, which is something that can seriously undermine your credibility in a professional environment.

So the next time you catch yourself writing an "urgent email", just do yourself a favour and pick up the phone. Yes, yes, cue the rending of clothes and pearl clutching. And, you'll thank me later.

* And for all the pedants out there (like me) itching to point out that "urgent email" is not a true oxymoron, just a regular contradiction - I'm invoking a little literary licence here. I'm suggesting that email is so fundamentally not urgent that it's practically anathema to the very concept, thereby making the phrase oxymoronic.

Stephen

Fair warning: what follows below employs ostentatiously ornate language and sesquipedalian verbiage. It's up to you to interpret how much of it has been done deliberately, for effect.

I came across a LinkedIn post by Clara Costa titled "7 ways to spot ChatGPT copy." With tongue planted firmly in cheek, they facetiously pointed out hallmarks such as proper punctuation, starting sentences with capital letters, and even the correct use of "you're" vs. "your" as possible signs of AI authorship.

While humorous in tone, the post posits a provocative postulation: are we too quick to suspect AI at work in polished writing?

As someone who uses words like "albeit," "boon," and "behove" in everyday discourse, I've often wondered whether my penchant for elaborate vocabulary and verbose phrasing makes me sound more robotic than human. Although my use of abstruse words and recondite locution makes me sound ancient, more so than stilted.

In the very remote off-chance that it's still unclear at this point, I'm intentionally laying it on thick here. Just a smidge.

Combine that with my sporadic use of semi-colons and tendency to avoid contractions - I'll fight you on why "cannot" is the superior choice over "can't" in some situations - and I might unintentionally check quite a few of those AI markers.

I even question myself at times, though I'm always assured I'm not a robot whenever I play those little picture games that pop up sometimes.

My tedious proclivities aside, reality is nuanced. Yes, ChatGPT and similar tools are convenient. Yes, they are overused. Case in point, have you noticed how the word "elevate" has proliferated in marketing copy everywhere, whether it's within an epicurean context or on a billboard ad for plumbing services?

This is neither the fault of AI nor its users. Recall how not too long ago, people with an expansive vocabulary were often accused of relying too heavily on thesauruses. Rather, it reflects the exponential advancements in tools and technology and their increasing accessibility.

This holds true for many aspects of our lives, and when utilised for communication the phenomenon is amplified. Perhaps it could advocate for the judicious use of such tools.

I don't see this as a critique more than a call to appreciate the quirks and eccentricities that distinguish human writing, even if they sometimes align with "robotic" patterns. After all, isn't the charm of writing its ability to spark thought, conversation, or even just a quiet knowing smile to oneself?

And no, I won't conclude with a call to action or a pithy takeaway. Would ChatGPT end without some CTA or poignant conclusion?
Hah, I think not!
That, perhaps, is proof enough of humanity in my prose.
..
..
Now go read a book!

* Dang it! * 🤦‍♂️

Stephen

Oh, I love a good plan! The act of planning sharpens our focus, aligns our efforts, and creates a shared understanding. That said, meticulous planning can easily devolve into overplanning and analysis paralysis, where time spent perfecting a plan comes at the cost of action. I'm all too often guilty of this myself.

This isn't an argument for abandoning forethought entirely. Far from it. Striking a balance is key.

Meticulous planners may pride themselves on careful preparation, but their risk lies in missing opportunities while waiting for perfection. On the other hand, those who charge forward without a plan risk avoidable setbacks.

Success often lies somewhere in between, where deliberate preparation supports decisive action.

I was driven by Richard Muscat Azzopardi's LinkedIn post to reflect on the paradoxical nature of planning. While plans themselves often become obsolete as soon as the ink dries, the process of planning is invaluable.

Covey, Drucker, Allen, and countless others (Richard, you're in good company here!) have all underscored a timeless principle for bridging the gap between planning and execution: clarity on who is responsible for a task, what needs to be done, and by when it needs to be accomplished. Or, as Mark Horstman so elegantly puts it, who does what by when.

This deceptively simple concept eliminates ambiguity, making sure plans move beyond mere intention.



Here's how you can start applying these principles immediately:

• In meetings (whether one-on-one or with large teams), don't just decide that something needs to be done. Specify who will take action, and by when that task will be completed.
• For personal planning, use the same principle. The who is clearly yourself, but break down generic objectives into specific tasks and assign a date to them.
• Revisit plans regularly but keep moving forward. Adjustments are a part of the process, not a failure of the plan.

In essence, don't let planning become an end in itself. Instead, let it be the foundation for meaningful, measurable progress.

Now, if you'll indulge me, I've resisted the temptation to pepper this article with a bunch of adages, aphorisms and platitudes. So I'll just leave you with a list here.

If they help you keep in mind the balance between planning and execution, even if it costs me a bit of your respect, I'll consider it a win.

• No plan survives first contact.
• Plans are nothing; planning is everything.
• By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail.
• The best-laid plans often go awry.
• A goal without a plan is just a wish.
• The difference between a dream and a goal is a plan.

Props to you if you can readily identify whom they're attributed to or are paraphrasing. If you can't, that's even better...go look them up, then practise the smug look you'll be wearing at your next trivia quiz.

You're welcome!

Stephen

Every founder dreams of building something remarkable. A business that's both impactful and rewarding. Yet, as Noam Wasserman so astutely outlines in his seminal 2008 HBR essay "The Founder's Dilemma", a choice often looms large: do you prioritise wealth or control? Or as it's often colloquially known, Rich vs. King.

This phrase evokes a decision paralysis that many entrepreneurs experience as they build their startups.

On one hand, there's the appeal of maintaining full control over every decision, vision and aspect of the company. On the other, there's the desire for financial success, the kind that comes from rapid growth and a profitable exit.

Control feeds our desire to lead with autonomy, while wealth validates the hard work and risk we take on.

This tension is aptly captured by the aphorism:



In the startup world, that saying takes on a practical meaning, which Wasserman thoroughly explored in his book, The Founder's Dilemmas: Anticipating and Avoiding the Pitfalls That Can Sink a Startup. He delves into the choice between wealth and control and examines the implications of each path. It's one of my favourites, and I strongly recommend reading it.

Here's the main takeaway: the truth is that the Rich vs. King trade-off isn't a problem to overcome; it's an opportunity to define your legacy as a founder.

Decisiveness as a superpower

The most successful founders aren't necessarily the smartest or the most innovative. They're the ones who make clear, intentional decisions and fully commit to them. The Rich vs. King dilemma is no different.

Choosing to prioritise control means aligning every aspect of your business - team, funding, strategy... - to protect your autonomy. You'll likely raise smaller rounds or opt for slower, more organic growth. This path is about building your company on your terms, even if it means sacrificing financial upside.

Conversely, prioritising wealth often involves relinquishing control in exchange for resources that can help your business grow rapidly. It's about understanding that stepping back from decision-making doesn't mean you're stepping away from your vision. It simply means trusting others to execute it at scale.

Both choices are valid. What matters is that you choose.


The trade-off entrepreneurs make - Founders' choices are straightforward: do they want to be rich or king? Few have been both.

The danger of indecision

Wasserman's research is clear: founders who try to have it all often lose both. When you refuse to prioritise, you send mixed signals to your team and investors. Your vision becomes diluted, your growth stalls, and your relationships suffer.

You can see this play out in businesses where founders were unwilling to make hard calls. They insist on staying at the helm of every decision while also seeking aggressive funding. The result? They lose credibility with their investors and morale within their teams.

Contrast this with founders who lean into their choice. When they prioritise wealth, they negotiate hard and clearly with investors, securing terms that balance their personal goals with the company's needs. When they prioritise control, they set boundaries early and either choose funding partners who share their vision or they bootstrap to maintain independence.

A framework for clarity

If you're a founder wrestling with this dilemma, here's a framework you'll find useful:

1. Define your goals. What's driving you; autonomy or financial success? Be brutally honest with yourself.
2. Align your strategy. Look at your company's needs. Does your growth plan require heavy investment or patient, steady scaling?
3. Communicate transparently. Share your priorities with your stakeholders: co-founders, team, and investors. Clarity builds trust and makes sure you're all moving in the same direction.

Embrace Rich vs. King

The Rich vs. King trade-off isn't about sacrifice. It's about purpose. By making a clear choice, you're not just navigating challenges; you're laying the groundwork for a business that aligns with your true goals. As Wasserman shows, founders who take ownership of their decisions are better equipped to build sustainable companies and realise their vision with purpose.

So, ask yourself...what do you want most as a founder?

Choose wisely. Then commit fully.

Stephen