I will be the first to admit that I have never been particularly good at making decisions. It’s not that I can’t do it; it’s just that I tend to turn even the most trivial of decisions into enormous life changing events that I agonize over. Ultimately, I am capable of making decisions, but the amount of time and energy I spend can’t possibly be healthy. Everyday, I see people making important decisions with relative ease, and yet on more than one occasion, I have taken well over a week to decide whether or not the timing was right for a haircut. A $9 haircut.

I am not sure that I fully subscribe to the “birds of a feather flock together” theory of relationships, but when it comes to agonizing over making decisions, Andrea and I are two peas in a pod. Individually, we are world-class over-analyzers and Internet researchers. Together, we could literally grind the entire world to a halt if it was dependent on us for an answer. Now, in my opinion, thinking before you act is responsible. What I believe is unhealthy is creating 72 spreadsheets, developing exhaustive pros/cons lists and spending hundreds of hours on the Internet trying to determine the best sand & water table for a two year old.

Even to me, that just doesn’t feel right.

And yet, that is what we do. Whether trying to determine when to start Tyler in kindergarten (important) or whether or not to get a trampoline for the backyard (not important), the amount of energy, time and stress involved in the decision making process is the same. That can’t possibly be considered “healthy”.

The other day, Andrea and I finally bought a new car. My first car cost $800. Ironically, that purchase decision took me all of about 3.4 seconds to make. In the world of cars today, you really can’t get much for $800 anymore. Not like the good old days.

As you might imagine, given how expensive new cars are, we spent a fair amount of time thinking, researching and worrying about the decision. I think it was the summer of 2007 when we first decided that it was time for a new car. We have been overanalyzing this decision so long that a couple of our initial options have actually gone out of business. I should be smart enough to realize that this might be an indication that we are taking too long to decide, but all it really did was give me an opportunity to create a brand new set of spreadsheets for factoring in the likelihood of bankruptcy with the remaining cars.

For the record, I really don’t enjoy agonizing over all of the various decisions that need to be made during any given day, week or month of my life. Apparently, I am just wired this way. I always want to make the “perfect” decision, so I must just think that if I spend enough time and energy on it, that I will be able to make the right choice. Unfortunately, on several occasions, our “perfect” decisions have resulted in a counterproductive buy high/sell low strategy.

“There’s no way Enron stock can go any lower.” I made this bold statement after about two months of detailed financial analysis on the state of the company and its current stock price. Fully convinced that it was impossible for a Fortune 50 company to go out of business in a matter of months, I dipped my toe into the stock market and bought shares of Enron at $14/share. What a golden opportunity!

Who knew? Apparently everyone but me. My shares are currently worth less than the paper they are printed on.

“It’s a perfect house for us, let’s do it.” When Andrea and I bought our first house a few years ago, the timing felt right. We were getting ready to expand our family. Finally ready to settle down. After about 6 months of Olympic-caliber research and worrying, we signed the paperwork and moved in. We were home owners! In retrospect, I am fairly confident that our final unpacking was the event that triggered the collapse of the housing industry. For what we paid for our house, I have been told that we could now buy a thriving, mid-sized, rural community.

These are just two examples of how effective we have been with our research and analysis. Unfortunately, there are more. Like our BowFlex Home Gym that was a home gym for about 2 months, and a towel rack for 2 years before we sold it at a 92% discount. Suffice it to say, not all of our decisions have been home runs. And some have had far reaching impacts – the complete failure of Enron, the collapse of the housing industry. I don’t think this can be considered insider trading, but as an FYI, we ended up buying a Mazda. If you work for Mazda, own stock in Mazda or have recently purchased a Mazda, I am truly sorry. We just love the car.

So, what to do? It’s not like I can just suddenly stop making decisions. Every day, as an employee, a husband, a father, and a friend, I am required to make decisions. Rarely do I have all of the information necessary to make the “right” decision. What I have started to realize is that the answer isn’t in trying to do more research, worrying more, or agonizing over trivial details more. I have tried that. It doesn’t work. It’s about making the best decision I can with the information that I have. And then, most importantly, not dwelling about it afterwards. Sometimes my choices work out. Sometimes they don’t, and my kids end up with incredibly expensive Enron stock certificate craft paper.

All I can do is try to make the best of the situation and learn as much as possible, so next time I can hopefully make a better decision. Even in those times when I could not have been more wrong, it hasn’t been the end of the world.

It sounds a bit cliché, but I do think that life is too short to waste any of it worrying about things outside of my control. Most likely, I will never be an efficient decision maker. I will probably always find something to worry about. By trying to do a better job of picking and choosing what decisions are worth agonizing over and which aren’t, I feel like I am improving. Not every decision is a dramatic, life changing event. Just realizing that has made it easier for me to actually make them.

I love the concept of “self help”. I honestly do. I love that millions of us are fed up and are ready to make some changes to our lives. As someone who regularly needs help, and someone who also likes to tackle my own challenges, I feel like self-help books were made for me. Yet, more often than not, when I find myself in the self-help section of the bookstore, I end up walking away feeling thoroughly confused, not knowing where to start. The rows and rows of books are rife with seemingly contradictory messages. One big source of confusion came as a result of my sincere desire to stop getting worked up over trivial details.

Eager to make a change, I headed to the bookstore. Almost immediately, I was drawn to a set of books that encouraged me to “not sweat the small stuff.” Wonderful. Having spent the bulk of my life training to become the greatest small stuff worrier of all time – oh, if only worrying were an Olympic event,

I was excited for the change. But as I turned to leave, another series of titles caught my eye. In the same self-help section, literally on the same shelf as the “sweat-free living” books, I found several other books that proclaimed the critical importance of being ever vigilant regarding “the devil in the details”. What to do?

To be clear, I don’t enjoy stressing out about every little detail. I have friends and family who seem wonderfully indifferent to “the small stuff” and they appear to be perfectly happy. I don’t know how they do it, but I am a tad envious. Several years ago, when Andrea and I were working on a consulting project in Europe, we were able to do quite a bit of sightseeing. Almost every weekend, we would plan a getaway to some incredible European city. For the bulk of the trips, given my obsessive-compulsive nature and my need to plan everything out to the n^th degree, I was our logistics coordinator.

Most countries we visited spoke some English, but I still showed up with maps, printed directions, brochures, travel guides, books, translation sheets, virtually everything that a traveler might EVER need to survive in a foreign land. One time, Andrea took the lead on planning our trip to Berlin. Needless to say, I was incredibly excited to go, but I would be lying if I said a large part of me wasn’t completely stressed out. Particularly since I wasn’t in control of “the details”.

When we landed, I followed Andrea to get a cab. As we got in, our cabbie turned around and gruffly asked “Ver?”

Andrea: “Marriott, please”.

Cabbie: “Mahdiut?”

Andrea: “Marriott.”

Cabbie: “Mahdiut?” (Slightly angry this time)

Andrea: “Marriott.”

Me: “I don’t think he understands you.”

Andrea (slower and louder, like when you talk to your dog): “MMMAAARRRIIIOOOTTTTTT.”

Cabbie: Odd stare that was an unsettling mix of confusion and anger.

Me (pulse quickening): “He’s not deaf, he just hasn’t heard of the Marriott. Show him the map.”

Andrea: “I don’t have a map.”

Me (pulse now racing, tense smile at cabbie): “Show him the printout from the Marriott site.”

Andrea: “I didn’t bring that.”

At this point, my blood pressure skyrocketed and I am fairly confident that I blacked out for a few seconds.

Cabbie: A string of angry German that, even without any understanding of the language, made it abundantly clear that he 1) had never heard of the Marriott, 2) had no idea what we were talking about and 3) was not particularly fond of clueless, English-speaking visitors.

I don’t remember the next 20 – 30 minutes, because I was focused on trying to avoid having a heart attack. I was most assuredly “sweating the small stuff”. I am not sure exactly how she did it, but somehow we made it to our hotel.

And in typical Andrea fashion, she had developed a strong new friendship with our cabbie. Sadly, I think my unhealthy attention to detail has started to wear off on Andrea, as evidenced by the roughly 1,300 hours she recently spent researching bedding for Kailey’s new bed.

Given the fact that I had been a “devil’s in the details” person most of my life, and was not entirely pleased with my resulting mental health, I chose to try not sweating the small stuff, and bought the book. After all, it sounded easy enough. Since making that decision, I have been presented with countless opportunities to sweat profusely over details, yet I have made every effort not to.

Recently, I noticed that Tyler’s bedroom door was making a lot of noise as it was being shut. At 5 years old, he is at an age where he likes to assert his independence by storming to his room and slamming his door whenever he is unhappy. As a result, the screws holding the hinges to the door had become stripped. Since I didn’t really want to buy a brand new door, I had the bright idea of swapping out his door with the one to the kids’ bathroom, since it is never used. Not sweating the small stuff, I went to work.

It took less than 15 minutes, but the whole time I was doing it, I couldn’t stop patting myself on the back. Great idea, saving some money, not getting worked up over the broken door, just going with the flow. Everything seemed fantastic, and I couldn’t have been more proud of my personal growth.

Turns out there was a devil in the details. Tyler has had his new, state-of-the-art, side-vent, non-shutting door for well over a month now and he doesn’t seem to mind. I have tried to convince him that it is cool and unique.

As much as I need and enjoy self-help, I don’t think things are as black and white as a lot of the books sometimes make them out to be. Having tried a lifetime of obsessing over “the devil in the details” and more recently not “sweating the small stuff”, I am now trying a healthy balance of both. Sometimes I get it right. And sometimes I don’t, and I end up with more doors that won’t close. Regardless of the outcome, by focusing on balance, I actually feel like I have achieved some level of self-help. At least for today.

I love Christmas. It is such a wonderful time of year to spend with family and friends. Plus, it’s the only time of year when you can celebrate a Savior’s birth and get trampled trying to buy Tickle Me Elmo for your child. I know that Christmas isn’t all about the gifts, but based on the roughly 1.6 million people I recently ran into at Target, I don’t think everyone got that message.

You might think I’m crazy, but I actually really enjoy Christmas shopping. There is no better time to witness the highs and lows of humanity than during the holiday shopping season. On any given trip to the mall you can see everything from precious children anxiously picking out the perfect present for mom to acts of bone-chilling terror. “Terror” may sound dramatic, but until you are confronted by a frazzled mom who desperately needs that last Zhu Zhu Pet that you just put in your cart, you have no idea.

Being in the holiday spirit, I decided to help her out and I gave her the rat – I think it was a rat. Actually I gave it to her because 1) it was quite possibly the ugliest toy I have ever seen, and 2) the look in her eyes made it abundantly clear that she was fully prepared to rip my heart out of my chest in order to get her hands on it.

Growing up, I never received the “hot toy” for Christmas. My parents simply didn’t have the means. And I survived.

Now, as a parent, I look back and wonder if that was hard on them or not. Every parent wants their child to be happy, and it seems like all kids are programmed to want the most popular, most hard to find toy more than anything else in the world. I am sure that every year my sister and I would beg and plead for whatever was the “it” toy – a Cabbage Patch Kid, Lazer Tag guns – and hope with all of our might that Santa would deliver. He never did because they couldn’t afford it, and now I look back and pray that I didn’t act like an unappreciative brat. At the time, I didn’t realize the amount of pressure that Santa was under. Now that the responsibility of being Father Christmas has fallen to me, I am much more sympathetic to his challenges.

I didn’t realize that Santa was responsible for driving to the mall and endlessly circling the parking lot waiting for an elusive parking spot to become available. During my last trip it took me just a shade under 30 minutes to park. At one point, I was afraid that I was going to run out of gas. I wonder if Santa ever had to have his sleigh towed? I also didn’t realize that doting parents are willing to do virtually anything to get their hands on certain toys. Apparently adults are a little less worried about being on the “naughty list” than their children. Finally, I didn’t realize just how fickle our little angels can be. Nothing like finally tracking down the perfect gift, only to have them announce over dinner that they have completely changed their minds.

Christmas morning, Tyler and Kailey will wake up and there will be no Zhu Zhu Pet under the tree. I think they will survive. I know that Christmas is not about the presents under the tree, but they don’t. They are only 5 and 2 and are convinced that Jesus’ birthday is the greatest day of the year because a heavyset, older man in red velvet is going to break into their house, eat their food and leave them presents. They seem perfectly okay with the whole breaking and entering thing.

What I love best about Christmas is getting to see it again through Tyler and Kailey’s eyes. I didn’t realize it, but as I have gotten older, I stopped appreciating the little things during the holidays. I love their pure excitement when they see all of the beautiful lights on the houses. Or how they work together so diligently to make sure that Santa has the perfect cookies and hot chocolate with exactly 10 marshmallows waiting for him. Their precious innocence, infectious excitement and sheer joy are so uplifting. Being Santa definitely has its challenges, but having a plate full of cookies with “my” name on it isn’t all bad.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a Good Night!

PS – You would not believe how much work it took to get this picture!

I like to think of myself as someone who embraces change. Throughout my career, I have basically managed change for a living. In every situation, I am always the one preaching to everyone about how “change is good”, “change is inevitable” and “don’t be afraid of change”. I talk a good game. When changes impact me personally, however, I tend to resist like my son resists eating broccoli. Most of the time I don’t resort to screaming, crying or begging, but it’s never pretty.

Recently, I experienced somewhat of a large change in my life – I started a new job! No longer just a sad, little dot on an unemployment chart, I rejoined the working world. I would have shared the news earlier, but the past week has been fairly hectic adjusting to my new schedule. Having been retired for the past six months, my calendar has been pretty wide-open, so things like setting the alarm, rolling out of bed and showering before 10:00 a.m. have taken some getting used to.

Starting any new job is a bit of a stressful time for me. I try to look at it as a fresh start, but I can’t seem to leave my insecurities behind, so I tend to worry too much about what people think about me. It’s like the first day of high school all over again. It doesn’t help that, as the “new guy” I don’t know where to find anything. I kid you not, I’ve already had to recruit help on three separate occasions to find my desk after getting lost searching for the restrooms.

Aside from my inability to navigate the building, my biggest challenge to date has been adjusting to the style of the company. In the past, I have always worked in the typical, competitive, corporate environment. 60+ hour weeks were the norm and it was survival of the fittest. Now, I work for a non-profit, Christian radio station and everyone truly understands and appreciates the importance of a work-life balance. I love it, but I am a little freaked out by it. For my entire life, I have always worried that I was going to get in trouble if I wasn’t constantly working hard to try to prove my worth. Now, I work for an organization that seems to value my time even more than I do, and I don’t know what to do with myself.

Just today, I was asked to join a few co-workers to take a break and play ping pong. Ping pong? At work? I thought they were joking, but they weren’t. They talked me into joining them, but I was fairly convinced that I was going to be fired. The whole time, I felt like a criminal. I just knew that any minute, my boss was going to walk around the corner, find me playing ping pong and question my sanity. Everyone has assured me that my feelings are normal, and even my boss has warned me about the adjustment period that “corporate types” like me go through when they start work. If I didn’t have something to worry about, I probably wouldn’t know what to do with myself.

Change is inevitable, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Even when the change is a positive one, it can still be hard to trust it and let go. For me, I just have to keep reminding myself that I can’t control the change – it’s coming no matter what – all I can do is control how I choose to respond to it. Eventually, once I stop my kicking, screaming and complaining, things have a way of working out.