December 30, 2003 by
Jim Collins, USA
Today
Each time the New Year rolls around and I sit down to
do my annual resolutions, I reflect back to a lesson taught
me by a remarkable teacher. In my mid-20s, I took a course
on creativity and innovation from Rochelle Myers and Michael
Ray at the Stanford Graduate School of Business, and I
kept in touch with them after I graduated.
One day, Rochelle pointed to my
ferocious work pace and said, "I notice, Jim, that
you are a rather undisciplined person."
I was stunned and confused. After all, I was the type
of person who carefully laid out my BHAGs (big hairy audacious
goals), top three objectives and priority activities at
the start of each New Year. I prided myself on the ability
to work relentlessly toward those objectives, applying
the energy I'd inherited from my prairie- stock grandmother.
"Your genetic energy level enables your lack of discipline," Rochelle
continued. "Instead of leading a disciplined life,
you lead a busy life."
She then gave me what I came to call the 20-10 assignment.
It goes like this: Suppose you woke up tomorrow and received
two phone calls. The first phone call tells you that you
have inherited $20 million, no strings attached. The second
tells you that you have an incurable and terminal disease,
and you have no more than 10 years to live. What would
you do differently, and, in particular, what would you
stop doing?
That assignment became a turning
point in my life, and the "stop doing" list
became an enduring cornerstone of my annual New Year
resolutions -- a mechanism for disciplined thought about
how to allocate the most precious of all resources: time.
Rochelle's challenge forced me to see that I'd been plenty
energetic, but on the wrong things. Indeed, I was on entirely
the wrong path. After graduate school, I'd taken a job
at Hewlett- Packard. I loved the company, but hated the
job. Rochelle's assignment helped me to see I was cut out
to be a professor, a researcher, a teacher -- not a businessman
-- and I needed to make a right-angle turn. I had to stop
doing my career, so that I could find my real work. I quit
HP, migrated to the Stanford Business School faculty and
eventually became -- with some remarkable good luck along
the way -- a self-employed professor, happily toiling away
on my research and writing.
Rochelle's lesson came back to me a number of years later
while puzzling over the research data on 11 companies that
turned themselves from mediocrity to excellence, from good
to great. In cataloguing the key steps that ignited the
transformations, my research team and I were struck by
how many of the big decisions were not what to do, but
what to stop doing.
In perhaps the most famous case,
Darwin Smith of Kimberly-Clark - - a man who had prevailed
over throat cancer -- said one day to his wife: "I
learned something from my cancer. If you have a cancer
in your arm, you've got to have the guts to cut off your
own arm. I've made a decision: We're going to sell the
mills."
At the time, Kimberly-Clark had the bulk of its revenues
in the traditional paper business. But Smith began asking
three important questions: Are we passionate about the
paper business? Can we be the best in the world at it?
Does the paper business best drive our economic engine?
The answers came up: no, no and no.
And so, Smith made the decision to stop doing the paper
business - - to sell off 100 years of corporate history
-- and throw all the resulting resources into the consumer
business (building brands such as Kleenex), which came
up yes, yes and yes to the same questions.
The start of the New Year is a perfect time to start a
stop doing list and to make this the cornerstone of your
New Year resolutions, be it for your company, your family
or yourself. It also is a perfect time to clarify your
three circles, mirroring at a personal level the three
questions asked by Smith:
- What are you deeply passionate about?
- What are you are genetically
encoded for -- what activities do you feel just "made to do"?
- What makes economic sense -- what can you make a
living at?
Those fortunate enough to find or create a practical intersection
of the three circles have the basis for a great work life.
Think of the three circles as a personal guidance mechanism.
As you navigate the twists and turns of a chaotic world,
it acts like a compass. Am I on target? Do I need to adjust
left, up, down, right? If you make an inventory of your
activities today, what percentage of your time falls outside
the three circles?
If it is more than 50%, then the stop doing list might
be your most important tool. The question is: Will you
accept good as good enough, or do you have the courage
to sell the mills?
Looking back, I now see Rochelle Myers as one of the few
people I've known to lead a great life, while doing truly
great work. This stemmed largely from her remarkable simplicity.
A simple home. A simple schedule. A simple frame for her
work.
Rochelle spoke to me repeatedly
about the idea of "making
your life a creative work of art." A great piece of
art is composed not just of what is in the final piece,
but equally important, what is not. It is the discipline
to discard what does not fit -- to cut out what might have
already cost days or even years of effort -- that distinguishes
the truly exceptional artist and marks the ideal piece
of work, be it a symphony, a novel, a painting, a company
or, most important of all, a life.
Jim Collins is author of Good
to Great and co-author of Built to Last.
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Jim Collins, All rights reserved. |