Complete Phrase Samples

Redefine Perfection

On the surface, it seems like a good idea to try to be “perfect”—to get every answer correct on a test or to be a perfect spouse, parent, coach, or employee. However, I discovered that my definition of perfection was the single biggest source of stress in my life.

When I was growing up, if I got four A’s and a B on a report card, my father would ask, “Why did you get a B?” If I hit four great golf shots and then sliced one out of bounds, the only comment I heard was about the bad shot. My coping mechanism was to try to be perfect—to get five A’s and hit every shot perfectly. As I went through life, no matter where I was or what I was doing, my attention automatically went to what was not perfect and what needed improvement. I rarely noticed all the things that were already going well.

Striving for perfection led to many achievements. I earned good grades, excelled in sports, became a top salesperson at Hewlett-Packard, and eventually started and ran a successful software company. Yet I enjoyed very little of it because I always focused on what was still wrong. I criticized myself, my environment, and sometimes even the people around me.

Eventually, I realized the problem wasn’t perfection. The problem was how I had defined it. I didn’t need to give up on perfection—I needed to redefine it.

I wanted to write this book for many years, and I wanted it to be “perfect,” which seems like a good goal. The problem was that I had never clearly defined what a “perfect” book looked like. Without a clear definition, I kept reviewing and rewriting the material, making tiny changes. I also kept adding new topics because a perfect book would include every useful phrase I had ever used. As a result, the book was never perfect and never got released. So I redefined perfection: The book would be perfect if it included my most important phrases and explained them reasonably clearly. That was a definition of perfection I could actually achieve, and it finally made finishing the book possible.

I did the same thing with the software company I started. For years, my vague definition of perfection was fixing every problem, returning every email, and making sure every customer and employee was happy. Those are admirable goals, but they are impossible to achieve. As I pursued this definition of perfection, I worked more and more hours, took work home, stopped playing golf, and rarely saw my kids. No matter how many hours I worked, there was always another email to read or another problem to solve.

So I redefined perfection. My company was perfect if it stayed in business every year and provided a good living for my family. We could have unsolved problems, unanswered emails, angry customers, and unhappy employees and still meet that definition. I could achieve this new definition while working a 20-hour week, leaving plenty of time for golf, family, friends, and the many other things I wanted to do. The company flourished, and by my new definition, it was perfect.

I have continued to redefine perfection in many areas of my life. My children and grandchildren can make all kinds of mistakes and still be perfect. A picnic can be perfect even if it rains. A vacation with bad weather or lost reservations can still be perfect because of the time spent with my wife. My last youth hockey team won only four games and lost twenty-two, yet it was a perfect season because we had fun and built friendships that will last a lifetime.

I’m not saying I accept mediocrity. When I redefine perfection, I make sure the new definition is possible and still achieves the primary goal.

Back to the phrase list

The World Is a Far Better Place Than You’ve Been Led to Believe

I have coached youth hockey for over thirty years and have had the pleasure of getting to know and interacting with many young people. Over the last decade, I have noticed a disturbing trend. Many of them have come to believe that the world is messed up and falling apart and that their future is bleak. I vehemently disagree with that assessment. In fact, I would like to give a college commencement speech titled “The World Is a Far Better Place Than You’ve Been Led to Believe.”

I understand where the negativity comes from. We live with a twenty-four-hour pipeline of bad news. Television, social media, websites, and ordinary conversations continually deliver stories about crime, war, disease, political conflict, disasters, and predictions of catastrophe. People then talk about the news and repeat this crap. You can’t get away from it. It is almost impossible to absorb this material hour after hour without becoming pessimistic about the present and frightened about the future. The constant onslaught of negativity can create the impression that the world is more screwed up now than at almost any point in history.

I am not immune to this twenty-four-hour negativity. I sometimes start thinking, “Damn, the world is going to hell.” If I leave that thought unchallenged, it can lead to a pretty bleak view of the future. I ask myself, “Is that really true?” The answer is “Absolutely not,” particularly for those of us fortunate enough to live in a safe, prosperous country. I remind myself of the following:

• During the Great Depression, my father sometimes did not know whether he would have food that night. Do we really have it worse than that?
• Imagine living in 1700, when childhood death was common, medicine was primitive, and an infection or minor injury could kill you.
• During World War II, millions of young Americans left home for years, and more than 400,000 never returned.
• Medical and technological advances continue to improve and extend our lives.
• We are surrounded by far more decent people than terrible ones.
• Acts of kindness, cooperation, competence, and ordinary happiness occur constantly, even though they rarely become news.

The proportion of bad news presented to us compared with all the good or uneventful outcomes is unimaginably out of balance. According to 2024 data from the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, Americans drove approximately 84 million miles for every traffic death. Suppose a news program spends ten minutes reporting one traffic death and no time reporting all the uneventful driving. To give both outcomes the same share of time, it would have to spend the next 840 million minutes—approximately 1,600 years—reporting uneventful driving to balance the ten minutes devoted to the death.

That is not a typo: 1,600 years.

With reporting this unbalanced, it is no wonder people come to believe that the world is falling apart. The truth is that the world is a far better place than you’ve been led to believe.

Back to the phrase list

Sometimes I Have to Get Away and Scream

I have many phrases and tools that help me reduce stress and anxiety, and they have served me well over the years. However, there are still times when my stress level becomes so high that none of them seem to work. When I reach that point, I do not think clearly. My thoughts become overwhelmingly negative and distorted. I become impatient and irritable, and I am more likely to say things I do not mean, make poor decisions, and treat people unfairly. I have learned that this is not the time to solve problems or be around anyone.

Even though I know that this too shall pass, these moods can be so intense that they may take six to twelve hours to fade. During that time, my goal is not to fix anything. My goal is to make sure I do not make things worse. The answer, for me, is to change my environment. I get away from people and responsibilities and find a place where I can be completely alone. I turn off my phone so I do not send a text or email that I will later regret. I want to be temporarily unreachable until I am thinking clearly again.

Once I am alone, I do something physical. Sometimes I literally scream. I might go for a long run, hit a punching bag, split firewood, or hike until I calm down. The specific activity is not important. What matters is that I safely burn off the emotional energy without acting on the thoughts that come with it. When my mind starts pulling me back into whatever is upsetting me, I remind myself: “I am not solving problems right now. Right now, I am just running.”

That simple reminder keeps me from making decisions while I am in a state of mind that I know I cannot trust. Fortunately, I rarely have to get away and scream anymore. I have found many techniques for keeping my anxiety, anger, and stress at much lower levels. But it still happens a few times a year, and when it does, I know exactly what to do.

I also learned that I needed to explain this to my wife. The first time I suddenly left the house to go someplace remote, she was understandably confused. She wanted to know what was wrong, why I was so upset, whether she had done something, and whether she could help. When I returned home several hours later in a much better frame of mind, I was able to explain to her what had happened.

There was no particular problem she could solve. I was simply in a terrible emotional state, and I did not want to say or do anything I would be sorry for. I usually do not know why I ended up in that mood, and finding the reason is not important in the moment. The what is clear: I am in a terrible mood and need to get away. It has nothing to do with her or our relationship. She did not cause it, and there is nothing she needs to fix. The best way she can help is to understand that every once in a while, I need some time alone until the storm passes.

Being the very smart lady she is, she understood immediately. These days, I can simply tell her, “Honey, I need to go scream.” She smiles, says, “Okay,” and away I go. It is no different from saying, “I’m going to play golf.”

Back to the phrase list

You’re Never Going to Remember a Layup

When I was 16, my dad took me to Pebble Beach for a round of golf. Pebble is perhaps the best course the public can play and is on almost every golfer’s bucket list. You may never get to play the course again.

The 18th hole at Pebble is the most famous. It is a par 5 with the Pacific Ocean on the left the whole way. After I hit my first two shots, I was still about 200 yards from the green, with nothing but ocean in between and the wind in my face. I was very intimidated, so I decided to play it safe. I took out a seven-iron and aimed away from the green, planning to lay up. As I was getting ready to hit the ball, I heard my dad yell, “What the hell are you doing? You’re never going to remember a layup. Take out your driver and aim at the green.”

This seemed like ridiculous advice. I was only 16 and weighed less than 100 pounds. A good drive might go 180 yards. I would have to make the best shot of my life to carry 200 yards into the wind over the ocean.

But he was my dad, and we were at Pebble Beach on the last hole. I took out the driver, hit the ball on the green and made a birdie four. If I had laid up with that seven-iron, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be writing about it in this book. I also told this story at my dad’s funeral because it was my best memory of him. My kids and friends are sick of hearing the story, but I tell it again and again.

I don’t mean to imply that it is a good idea to always try the near-impossible, risky thing. It would be stupid to run across an interstate highway on foot. Telling a story about “Hey, I ran across this incredibly busy highway and survived” would make me seem like a fool.

However, there have been many times in my life when I have faced a choice between the safe, boring, conventional path and taking a risk to pursue a dream. “You’re Never Going to Remember a Layup” reminds me that sometimes I do want to take the risky path because it may turn out to be far more memorable and meaningful.

Thanks, Dad.

Back to the phrase list

Light Kills All Monsters

This book is a collection of phrases that help me, even a little bit. I’ve discovered that a phrase doesn’t necessarily have to be literally true to be helpful.

When I was growing up, I was afraid of the dark. I would imagine there was an evil monster in the corner that was going to come get me. My parents told me, “Don’t worry about it. There are no monsters. They don’t exist.” That didn’t help. One night my grandmother was babysitting and put me to bed. I told her about my fear of monsters, and she said, “Light kills all monsters.” Then she turned on a light in the corner. I remember thinking something like, “Oh, I didn’t know that. Thanks, Grandma.” If a light was on, the fear was gone. This is the first useful phrase I can remember using, and it wasn’t even true.

Even at 73 years old, I don’t like sleeping in a completely dark room and always have a nightlight. At one point I thought, “This is silly. I’m not five years old anymore. Let’s turn out the light.” When I did, it didn’t feel right. There was an uneasiness. I could have tried to teach myself how to sleep in the dark, talked to a therapist about it, or researched why I still wanted a light on. However, there was an easier solution: turn on a nightlight. Habits and solutions learned in childhood can be very hard to break, and there was no reason for me to break this one.

I don’t mean that it is a good idea to create lies and convince yourself they are true. In most cases, believing something that is not true can be very dangerous. “Strive to be perfect.” “Succeed at all costs.” “You have to love someone no matter how badly they behave.” These are all things I once believed that were not true and caused me problems.

“Light kills all monsters” is different. I know it isn’t literally true, but it helps me rather than causing problems. It has also become a pleasant thought that reminds me of my Grandma. I sometimes find myself in a hotel room looking for which light I can leave on that will illuminate the room just a little bit. With a bit of humor, I sometimes think, “Gotta kill those monsters, Grandma.”

Back to the phrase list

Ask Yoda—You May Already Know the Answer

I learned this technique at a weekend seminar in the late 1970s led by Nathaniel Branden, one of my favorite authors. Branden believed that we often already know the answers to questions we have been deliberating and agonizing over. We simply have trouble allowing ourselves to hear them.

There were about 100 people at the seminar. At one point, Branden turned down the lights and had everyone sit comfortably on the floor. He asked each of us to focus on one important question about our life. Over the next ten minutes, he helped us relax and clear our minds of everything except that question.

At the time, I was attending business school in Boston and facing a major life decision. After graduation, do I want to return to my hometown of Chicago or move to Los Angeles? Chicago offered my family, my friends, familiar surroundings, and a good job waiting for me. I had never lived in Los Angeles, did not know anyone there, and had no job offers. But Los Angeles represented sunshine, adventure, and the unknown. I had been debating the decision for nearly a year without reaching an answer, so that became my question during the seminar.

Branden told us to imagine the wisest and most trustworthy person in the world standing in the distance—someone who completely understood us, knew the answer to our question, and would never deliberately steer us wrong. Some people may have imagined Einstein, Jesus, a parent, or a trusted friend. I imagined Yoda, the small, ancient, and extremely wise Jedi master from Star Wars.

He then told us to imagine walking toward this person and watching the figure become clearer as we got closer. When we finally reached the person, we were supposed to ask our important life question directly. So I asked, “Yoda, should I move to Chicago or Los Angeles?” Instantly, without hesitation, Yoda answered, “Los Angeles.”

After nearly a year of agonizing, Yoda gave me the answer in about three milliseconds. He knew what I wanted to do and what I believed would be best for me. There was no uncertainty in his answer. Unless Yoda had actually materialized in that seminar room, the answer could only have come from me. Yoda was me. I already knew the answer, and I had probably known it for a long time. I moved to Los Angeles, and it turned out to be a great decision.

I still “ask Yoda” when I am struggling with an important life question. I relax, clear away the arguments that have been circling in my head, imagine the wisest person I can, and ask the question directly. The answer often arrives immediately and with surprising clarity.

Yoda’s answer is not automatically correct. It is not a message from some all-knowing external source. It is my own answer. I may still need to examine the facts, consider the consequences, and decide whether to follow it, but Yoda is rarely wrong.

Back to the phrase list

That Is a Blue Straw Problem

I had a good friend planning a big wedding. There were a million things to think about, including the invitation list, venue, drinks, hors d’oeuvres, dinner, speeches, first dance, transportation, seating charts, on and on. At one point my friend was trying to decide on the color of the straws for the drinks and showed me a blue one and a red one. I remember laughing and replying, “Are you kidding me? Nobody will care. It’s going to be a great wedding. Relax and enjoy it.” My friend got it, lightened up, and we now joke about a decision of this nature as a “Blue Straw Problem.”

Whenever I find myself stressing over some issue or decision that is very minor, I will often think, “Wow, another Blue Straw Problem.” It reminds me to either forget the issue or make a quick decision, perhaps flip a coin.

Blue Straw Problems don’t have to be as silly and minor as the color of a straw. Should I add three more phrases to this book, or six, or ten? Or none? Stressing over that decision is actually just stopping the completion of the book, and a few phrases more or less won’t make any difference.

It’s a Blue Straw Problem.

Back to the phrase list

Decisions Need a “Switchover Moment”

I have many tools that help me make major life decisions, several of which are included in this book. It is important to use those tools, but at some point I must make the decision, stop analyzing, and shift my attention to making the decision work. If I continue to reanalyze it, I undermine my self-confidence, increase my stress, and may even reduce the chances that the decision will work because I am spending my energy remaking it instead of implementing it.

Every important decision needs a “switchover moment”—the point when the decision is made, the analysis stops, and the focus shifts to making the decision work.

I learned this principle from a longtime professional hockey coach. During one of my early seasons coaching youth hockey, I was head coach of a team of 17- to 19-year-old boys in Los Angeles. Halfway through the season, the Los Angeles Kings hired an experienced coaching consultant to help the professional team. In addition to working with the Kings, he volunteered his time to help with my team.

I was twenty-five years old and had only two years of coaching experience. He had been coaching for forty years and was advising professional coaches. Clearly, he knew far more about coaching than I did. Before long, I was no longer really the head coach—I was his assistant. We ended up winning a national championship.

The day before the championship game, he asked players, coaches, and even parents for their opinions about our strategy. He listened carefully to everyone. The next morning, however, I approached him with another idea. He quickly cut me off and said, “I have made my decision about the strategy for this game. Here is what it is, and here is what I need you to do to help me implement it.” He then explained the strategy to every player and made sure each one understood his role. If anyone suggested a different approach, his message was always the same: The decision has been made. There is no more debate. Let’s make it work and win the game. That coach showed me how powerful a switchover moment can be. Here is how I use it:

• I choose a specific date and time to make the decision. Until then, I gather information, consider the alternatives, and listen to other opinions. At the switchover moment, the analysis ends and implementation begins.
• I make the switchover moment clear and definite. I may even put it on my Google Calendar and treat it like any other important event: meeting at 9:00, dentist at 10:00, make the decision at 11:00. Once 11:00 arrives, I switch from deciding to doing.
• I use the switchover moment to stop second-guessing myself. It is natural to reconsider an important decision. When I catch myself doing that, I remind myself that the switchover moment has passed. My job now is to make the decision work.
• When other people are involved, I make sure everyone knows when the switchover will occur. Before that moment, I want their questions, objections, and opinions. Afterward, I need them to support the decision and help implement it.
• When I managed my software business, switchover moments were difficult at first. I repeatedly had to remind my team that we had finished analyzing the issue and I no longer wanted more opinions. Over time, longtime employees began asking me, “When is the switchover moment on this one?”

Of course, switching to implementation does not mean blindly sticking with a decision when important new information appears. If the facts materially change, I may need to reconsider it. But discomfort and doubt are not new information.

I am not a robot, and I sometimes forget to follow my own steps. When I fail to do it with a critical decision, I pay a price. I worry about the decision throughout the day and sometimes lie awake at night analyzing it all over again. My stress rises, but I accomplish nothing. When that happens, I tell myself, “The switchover moment is right now.”

Back to the phrase list

Watch Out for a Bowl of Cheetos

If there is a bowl of Cheetos on the table during a meeting, I’m going to eat a few, and perhaps more than a few, even though I may be on a diet and Cheetos are certainly not on it. There are just some things that are irresistible, and the best thing for me to do is take away the bowl. No Cheetos on the table or in the house.

I asked a friend who had been an employee for years if he remembered any phrases I used that might be good for this book. He remembers that when he was lost in a quagmire of answering endless emails, I would tell him, “Email for you is like a bowl of Cheetos. You are going to eat one email after another and another. Picking up the phone and freaking calling prospects is your job, not eating Cheetos.”

He says I used a different word than “freaking,” and I probably did. The point was that putting a computer with email in front of him was just like putting a bowl of Cheetos in front of me. I know they aren’t good for me, but I eat them anyway. He knew email would suck him in and keep him from more important tasks, but he still opened it. It’s been 20 years since I had this conversation with him, and he said that when he finds himself lost in email he thinks, “Stop it, you’re eating Cheetos again.”

Instagram has become my latest bag of Cheetos. I open it in the morning thinking, “I’ll just look at a few things my friends are doing,” and the next thing I know 45 minutes have passed and I haven’t seen anything from a friend in the last 43. I’m aware of the “Cheeto factor,” so I don’t open Instagram at all, and start writing this book instead.

Back to the phrase list

Don’t Let the Jerks Win

I run into jerks from time to time and they can be hard to deal with. They can make my life miserable and often seem impossible to avoid. A jerk wins when he makes me quit something I want to do.

In my twenties I coached a hockey team that included one awful parent. This person would scream at the kids, referees, and me. We got to the end of the season and were playing for the league championship. We lost 2-1 in overtime. As I was leaving the bench this jerk got in my face and said, “What is wrong with you? Why did you have Smith on the ice for that last goal? Everyone knows he sucks. What, are you having sex with him or something?”

I wanted to punch him in the face, but instead I quit coaching for five years. When I got back into coaching, I clearly thought, “I’m not going to let the jerks win this time around.”

We had one customer who was a jerk, always screaming at support people, rude, ungrateful. One day I noticed one of my support people was crying. This was a tough, hard-nosed lady, the last person I could imagine crying. I went over and asked what was going on.

“This guy is just such a bastard, you wouldn’t believe the things he said to me.”

I had not been aware that this guy was a legendary pain in the ass with my support team, but it was now very clear. I grabbed the phone and said, “I am canceling your support contract. Your refund check will be in the mail today. Do not ever call here again. You are fired.”

He yelled at me and said, “You can’t do that. Get me your boss.” I said, “OK, sir, I will.” I paused for 30 seconds and then said, “Hi, I’m Barry’s boss. You’re fired.”

I remember working on a big deal. The owner was a nice guy with ten properties in his portfolio. We got along great and he said, “I’ll get you a deposit check tomorrow, I just need my lawyer to look at the deal.”

Well, the lawyer was a jerk. He read our terms and conditions of sale and rewrote them entirely, putting in ridiculous things like, “If there is a problem that you can’t resolve in 24 hours, you will pay a $100,000 penalty.”

I called him and he was rude and combative on the phone, not willing to talk reasonably. His tone was, “Hey, buddy, it’s my way or the highway. Sign the contract and shut up.”

I was tempted to give up the deal—to quit again. However, “don’t let the jerks win” popped into my head. So I called the owner and related my experience. He said something like, “Wow, sorry about that. I don’t need to change any contracts. Let me get you a deposit check.”

The jerk did not win.

Back to the phrase list

Sometimes Agree When You Don’t Agree

The phrase “Sometimes agree when you don’t agree” is one that at first glance makes me think, “What does that mean?” It means that when winning the argument isn’t worth the time and effort, or could get me physically hurt, just agree and move on.

I was in a parking lot driving around looking for a spot when a car backed out very quickly and smashed into my vehicle. There was no way I could have avoided it. The other driver had not looked and came out at full speed. We both got out of our cars, and the other driver was a big guy and extremely angry. “You hit my car, it’s all your fault, you’re going to pay for this…” Now none of that was true, and my first reaction was to argue with the guy, “Hey buddy, you backed out at full speed without looking, what was I supposed to do, you moron?”

We were not in a controlled environment like a debate class or courtroom. We were alone in a parking lot and this guy was dangerous. I was angry and wanted to set him straight, and the hockey player in me was ready for a fight. However, the lunatic might have a gun or knife in his pocket.

I remembered that “sometimes agree when you don’t agree” and this was one of those times. I said something like, “You’re right, I’m very sorry, it was all my fault, I’ll make sure my insurance pays for everything.” When the police got there, I would tell a different story, but for now it was better to just agree.

If I’m at a party and somehow end up talking to someone who has a ridiculous idea that I strongly disagree with, the best solution may be to “agree when I don’t agree.” “Yep, that makes a lot of sense. Hey, I see my wife wants to talk to me. Bye, you freaking idiot.”

I also applied this principle to close an important deal for my software company. There was a company in Hawaii that had four hotels, one on each of the four major islands. The owner was in his 80s but still vibrant and actively involved. He had built the first hotel right after World War II, and by “built” I mean with his own hands.

I met the owner’s son at a seminar I was giving on Maui about our hotel software product. The son came up to me afterwards and said, “I love your product. We are 100% manual, and I’d like to buy four copies.” Great, get out your checkbook. However, he went on to say, “The problem is my father hates computers, thinks they are worthless, and won’t let me get any.” I said, “Well, arrange a meeting and I will give it a try.” He set it up but warned me, “You are the third computer guy to try to convince him.”

We met in one of the owner’s hotels. He didn’t have a meeting room, so we used one of the hotel rooms. It was clean but very dated. It had two twin beds. The owner, who was Native Hawaiian and spoke Hawaiian Pidgin, sat on one and I sat on the other. Before I could speak he said, “Why I need computer? I very successful for 50 years, customers come back, make lots of money. Computers are worthless, just get in way.”

I didn’t agree with him at all. I knew computers could greatly benefit small hotels like his. However, it was very clear there was no convincing this man. So I said, “You are absolutely right, you do not need computers. You have a fantastic business here, one of the best I’ve ever seen.” Before he could reply, I pointed at his son standing in the corner of the room and said, “He needs computers for the next 50 years.”

The owner’s demeanor changed immediately, and he said, “Good answer. How much they cost?” I said, “$200,000 total,” to which he replied, “No, I give you $100,000 right now, no more. What you say?” No bullshit negotiations with this guy, so I said, “Okay.”

He wrote me a check, and I asked him, “Where were you when they bombed Pearl Harbor?” He said, “Ah, you make sale, change subject. I do that.” He went on, “1941 I senior high school. After graduate 17 join Army. 16 dead by end. I come back, build hotel.”

I agreed with what I did not agree with, got a deal in five minutes, and was now getting fascinating stories instead of trying to convince him why he needed computers!

Back to the phrase list

Use the Broken Record Technique

The Broken Record Technique was popularized by Manuel J. Smith in his 1975 book When I Say No, I Feel Guilty. In Smith’s version, a person calmly repeats the same request, refusal, or position rather than being pulled into side arguments. The metaphor came from vinyl records. When a record was scratched, the needle could become stuck and repeat the same words over and over.

I use my own version of the Broken Record Technique when I am trying to persuade a person or group without allowing the conversation to drift away from my strongest reason. For example, I did a great deal of sales work for my hotel software company. We often competed with five or more companies for new customers. Each company had strengths and weaknesses, and prospective customers were exposed to hundreds of features and benefits, often during eight-hour product demonstrations. Our competitors usually tried to win the contract by overwhelming the customer with a long list of selling points: “Buy our product because it does this and this and this and this.” They hoped that somewhere in those eight hours they would mention something the prospect cared about.

I took a different approach. We had one benefit that almost always appealed to the ultimate decision maker, who was usually the hotel owner. Owners want to make more profit, and we had a proven track record of increasing revenue and reducing expenses. I combined the Broken Record Technique with an old public-speaking formula:

1. Tell them what you are going to tell them.
2. Tell them.
3. Tell them what you told them.

I would open by saying, “I am going to show you how our product will increase your profitability.” During the presentation, I concentrated on the features that increased profitability rather than burying that message under a hundred other details. I would conclude by saying, “Remember, our product will make you more money.” By then, the group would usually laugh, as though saying, “Yes, Barry, we heard you.”

We did not win every deal, but after a prospect had spent a week sitting through five lengthy demonstrations, much of the information blurred together. When I asked owners why they had selected us, I often heard something like, “All the products seemed about the same, but I clearly remembered that your company was going to increase our profits.”

The Broken Record Technique is also useful when one decisive reason makes all the side arguments irrelevant. A few years ago, I sold my software company. During the negotiations, the purchaser wanted me to work for them for five years after the sale. After forty years of being my own boss, there was no way I wanted to work for anyone else, but they were insistent.

I explained that one of the primary reasons I was selling the company was that my doctor had warned me that I needed to reduce my stress or risk having a heart attack. They did not seem to hear me and began talking about increasing the salary I would receive. Rather than discussing salary, I said, “I don’t want to have a heart attack.”

They suggested increasing the purchase price if I agreed to work for them. I did not even ask what the new price would be. I simply repeated, “I don’t want to have a heart attack.” At one point, they told me that company policy required a five-year employment contract and that the deal might not go through. I replied, “Sorry, guys. I don’t want to have a heart attack.”

I must have repeated that sentence fifteen times over the course of a week. We closed the deal, and I did not have to work for them for a single day.

Back to the phrase list

You Can Be a Competitor Without Hating to Lose

All my life I heard coaches in the media say they loved a particular player because he “really hates to lose.” It was always said as a compliment. I am a competitor, and I like to win but I don’t hate losing with the passion and intensity the coaches seemed to want. I was worried that something was wrong with me and I must be missing this element the great players had. My view changed when I heard the Bill Walsh story.

Bill Walsh coached the San Francisco 49ers and won three Super Bowls. He is considered one of the greatest football coaches of all time. He also hated to lose. His son said Walsh told him privately that “winning meant nothing. Losing meant everything.” He retired right after winning his third Super Bowl, at age 57. In the locker room, a broadcaster asked him if he had coached his last game, and he broke down sobbing in his son’s arms. He wasn’t celebrating the win. He was relieved it was over. He later regretted quitting.

Here was a guy who hated to lose with such an intensity that it drove him to quit coaching the 49ers, something he loved. He also couldn’t function for 2-4 days after a loss because losing put him into such a funk. Was this really an ideal I wanted to strive for? Nope.

What I really enjoy is being with the guys, competing. I enjoy the game whether we win or lose. I realized there was nothing wrong with me, that I actually had the right idea.

I adopted this philosophy when coaching youth hockey, which can be summarized by a pep talk I gave a team of 10-year-olds before a championship game:

Barry: This is the championship game and if we win I am going to take the entire team to Laser Quest.

Player: Coach, what is going to happen if we lose?

Barry: If we lose I’m going to take the entire team to Laser Quest.

Player (with a puzzled look): But, Coach, that’s the same thing.

Barry: Right. And when you understand that you will understand where winning fits.

About 8 years later, one of the players from that team came up to me and said, “I get it, I know what you were trying to tell me about winning all those years ago—you were telling me to try as hard as I possibly can, but win, lose, or draw, make sure to leave it at the rink and go have a great time in life.”

Back to the phrase list

Even Einstein Had a Limit

When I was in college I majored in mathematics. I took one math class each semester, for a total of eight over the four years. The first seven I understood and got an “A.” Then my last semester I took “Ring Theory,” and I was lost from day one. It was theoretical math, with no real-world application that I could see, and it just did not make sense to me. I went to the professor seeking some individual help, and continued to be lost. I asked him, “How come I just can’t get this? I got all these A’s before.” He said, “Don’t worry about it, even Einstein reached a limit and you have reached yours.”

At first I was insulted. “Hey, what do you mean I have a limit? No way, the mind can do anything.” That is just not the way it works. Almost everybody gets arithmetic, 2+2=4. As the topics get tougher everybody reaches a limit, where no matter how hard they try, they just can’t get it. Some may reach the limit at Algebra, or Calculus. For me it was Ring Theory.

Einstein came up with special relativity when he was only 26, and later general relativity, which works extremely well for gravity and large things like planets and stars. Quantum mechanics works extremely well for very small things like atoms and electrons. Einstein believed there should be one theory that could tie these worlds together. He spent much of the rest of his life trying to develop what he called a “unified field theory,” but he never succeeded. Even Einstein had a limit. This phrase helped me in college. If Einstein had a limit, it was OK for me to have one at Ring Theory.

I don’t mean to imply that limits can never be changed. It is possible to increase your limit by working hard, training, and learning. But you can only move it so far. If I work out and train I can become a faster runner, but no matter what I do I’m not going to win the Olympic 100-meter dash.

I apply the concept when I’m contemplating a big project or goal. I have a 53-acre ranch property in Colorado, and I started to think, “Hey, I’ll just take care of this myself, cut all the grass, fix all the fences, repair the equipment, etc.” Nope, beyond my limits, so I hired somebody.

However, it still bothers me that I was never able to figure out Ring Theory!

Back to the phrase list