The most useful idea I learned in college is this:  If you have a problem you can’t solve, just put it in your subconscious and wait for an answer.

During law school I enrolled in an evening Shakespeare class taught by Professor Alan Casson. His second lecture was interrupted several times by students asking him questions.

“Please hold your questions until the end,” he said.  “I’m sure I will answer all of them during my lecture.”

I thought his statement was arrogant, and promised myself I would write down six questions to ask him at the end of class.

Alas, Professor Casson’s lecture was as good as his promise.  I had no questions.

The final exam was one long question encompassing all five Shakespeare plays we had studied.  I read the question.  I thought, “This is the best exam question I have ever read in my life.”  I read the question a second time.  My next thought was, “I have no idea how to answer this.  I don’t even know where to start.”

Fortunately, I remembered the textbook advice from my freshman Psychology class, and said to myself, “Subconscious, take over.”

Those were the days of ballpoint pens and bluebooks.  I looked down and saw my right hand moving the pen.  It was as if someone else had taken control of my hand which was doing the writing.

“That’s pretty good,” I smiled. “Did I know all that?”

It was a first for me – watching my hand write an answer to an exam question in an almost magical, stream-of-consciousness response. It must have been a great answer because I received an “A” on the exam and in the class.

For many years I have used the same technique in my business and in my writing.  When I don’t know the answer, I ask my subconscious to do the work.

I hope you enjoyed this blog.  My “subconscious” thanks you.

Alan

I recently watched the documentary Free Solo which follows Alex Honnold as he scaled the 3,000 foot face of El Capitan in Yosemite on June 3, 2017– without ropes or safety gear of any kind.  He succeeded.

Speaking literally, I have climbed only one mountain in my life. Fifty years ago, my friend John, an outdoorsman, talked me into a three day backpacking trip in the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

After one full day of hiking we arrived at our base camp next to a beautiful lake.  I was still panting, recovering from our climb, when John pointed upward.

“There she is.  Army Pass.  If we start early tomorrow morning we should be up there in time for lunch.”

I looked up to where John was pointing.  I almost fainted.

“John, that’s a mountain.  Hiking to the top could take all day.”

“Oh, no.  Three hours at most.”  He could see I was not convinced.  “Tell you what, Alan, we’ll go at your pace.  There are a lot of switchbacks, and we can rest at the end of each one if you like.  You set the pace.”

“Can I rest every three steps if I need to?”  That was a trick question, and I was hoping he would say “no” so that I could wish him well in his climb the next day while I remained next to the lake protecting our gear.

“Alan, you can rest after each step if you want to.  And we can turn back at any time.  Your call.”

It was an offer I couldn’t very well refuse.

That night I slept restlessly because I was not accustomed to the lack of oxygen at close to ten thousand feet of altitude. In the morning we set off.

“One step at a time,” John encouraged me, and he was true to his word.  We both rested whenever I wanted to. A little more than two hours later, to my surprise (and, I will admit, my delight), we arrived at the summit.

“See, John,” I said, “I told you it would be easy.”

Fast forward to yesterday when it was suggested that I take a look at all of the boxes and other personal possessions I had temporarily “stored” in the garage of my house.

Ugh!  I did not want to spend a day sorting through that jumbled muddle.  I would rather ignore it forever.  Then I remembered John.

“Tell you what,” I said, “This coming week I’ll go through the boxes of books.  Just the books.  I’ll put some on the bookshelves in the house and give away the rest.”

“Thanks.  That would be great.”

Mountains come in all shapes and sizes.  They all loom large.  But every mountain, including the mountain of mess in my garage, can be climbed.

Unlike Alex Honnold, we can use safety gear or ask others for help if we need it.  And, like my friend John, we can give ourselves permission to cut the task into manageable chunks.

And that is how I climb a mountain.  Not in a single leap like Superman, or in four hours without ropes like Alex, but by taking just one step at a time.

Alan

With the partial shutdown of the Federal government at least temporarily behind us, I was thinking about the comment our president made wondering why all of the Democratic members in the House of Representatives had been loyal to the Speaker of the House.  I’m not going to comment on that specific situation, but it did spark my thinking about loyalty.

To me, loyalty is putting the need of another person or group ahead of your own.

If my significant other or one of my children called me and said, “I need you to drop everything and come to see me right now,” what would I do?  Would I ask them why?  Would I tell them that I’m writing my blog and don’t want to fail to post it tomorrow morning for the first time in more than five years?  Or would I simply drop everything, walk to my car, and drive to see them?

That’s a no brainer.  I would leave immediately, as I believe they would for me.  My family is my first priority, followed by my friends.  I think that is true for most of us (if we like our family).

I remember a day, years ago, when one of my daughters was graduating from high school.  I had never missed a graduation for any of my children, but that same day Laurie, a very close friend of mine, was in the hospital hovering near death.  I decided that, if her condition didn’t improve, being with her was more important than the graduation. Fortunately, I didn’t have to make that choice.

As a franchisee of Penguin’s Frozen Yogurt I once opened more than twenty stores.  I hired a dear friend of mine, Jan, to supervise several of my stores, including one in Colorado Springs.

Jan lives near San Francisco, and I expected her to travel to the stores once every two or three weeks.  In the middle of winter in 1987, the Colorado Springs store was not doing well, and a week before Christmas our manager quit.  Ouch!

Jan called me from the Oakland airport to relay the news, and to tell me that she was on her way to Colorado Springs.  She’d decided to manage the store herself, and remained in Colorado Springs for several cold months.

That is one of the best examples of loyalty I have ever personally experienced.  Obviously, I remember it to this day.

For better or for worse, we’re all in this life together, and helping each other out, especially at a time of great need, is important.  Life is better when we share our triumphs and support each other through the tough times.

So I’m taking this opportunity to once again thank Jan, as well as everyone else who has helped me over the years.  You have made a difference.

Alan