No running. No diving. No loud music. Those were clearly stated in a sign for all to see, observe, and follow. They were the pool rules.

Ugh.

Rules. Policies. They’re everywhere. Telling us what not to do; what is off limits; what is forbidden. But what are these rules, really? Ostensibly, rules set boundaries. They create expectations for behavior. They are agreements (propositions, really) on acceptable behavior. And yet they don’t always create the intended behavior (as observed by the teens sharing their Spotify playlist at the deep end of the pool).

Decisions. While serving on a school board for twelve years I made a lot of them. No environment better exemplifies complicated decision-making than a school board. Yet those years left me with perspective (some bruises as well) and more importantly, an appreciation for decision-making and decision- communicating. Here are a few things I learned:

What do you want to be when you grow up? If you think back to your eight-year-old self you’ll likely recall this question from parents, uncles, grandmothers, and teachers. For some the answer was specific and tangible (“a basketball player”); for others more vague (“famous”). But in either case, it is unlikely that your answer then is what you are now. Maybe not even close (especially if your growth “spurt” stopped at 5’7” and basketball became something you watched not played).

So what’s the point of even wanting to “be” something when we grow up?

In a scene from the movie Patch Adams, medical students Hunter “Patch” Adams (played by Robin Williams) and Mitch Roman (played by Philip Seymour Hoffman) have a confrontation about each other's approach to patient care. Mitch chastises Patch for his inappropriately comic approach to patient treatment. Mitch says, “You ask the average person when death comes to their door whether they want a prick on their side…because when that day comes, I will want the prick. And so will you.”

Once upon a time, a team faced an immense dilemma. As the story goes, it was the perfect storm—literally and figuratively. The conditions forced a rethinking of logistics, while the affable CEO faced personal challenges, the team lost confidence and direction, and everyone was looking for leadership. All seemed lost. Christmas would be canceled.

Last week I waited forty-five minutes at a “quick” oil change station. So much for quick. During that forty-five minutes, I observed four employees. Two of whom were doing what I’ll describe as nothing. As evidence, the car in front of me sat unattended for ten minutes AFTER the traditional new-oil, dip-stick display. No action and no indication of action from anyone. What is happening, I wondered.

As I returned to my seat at the restaurant, I saw him. Really, what I saw was his jacket. Then I saw the man. An older man. Older than me, anyway. Sitting by himself. Looking like any other old man sitting at a restaurant for lunch. The jacket? Not just any jacket. A Boston Marathon jacket. Without a thought, I redirected my path to go talk to a stranger.

I can be patient and thoughtful, and also harsh and abrupt. Most days I choose wisely; other days less so. Peers enjoy working with me -- except on those days when they don’t. I’m a work in progress.

My son just bought a house. It’s a big step on his journey to adulthood. It also means something for me: painting. Ugh. Nowhere on my list of things to do on a summer weekend is painting, washing off paint, and painting again. Yet I did it.

Good people are NOT hard to find. Good people are everywhere. What IS hard to find (often) are good behaviors, choices, and gracious responses.

“He’s crazy.” You know who. How often have you used that expression to describe a friend, co-worker, or perfect stranger who has done something completely crazy. It’s everywhere—and the terrific thing about “crazy” is that it is available in so many flavors. There’s the guy who routinely runs more than 3,000 miles a year. Do that math. That’s more than eight (8!) miles a day. Every day. Ludicrous. Or how about the friend that read 138 books last year; 176 the year before (do that math—a book every other day). Nuts. Or a coworker who writes three positive items in a journal from the previous day; every day. Wow. That’s crazy. Yet a part of you says, “I wish I could.”

Well you could.

It’s back: Groundhog Day. Both the day and the movie are inevitable this time of year. Which got me thinking: Is there something more to this day than just this day? My answer: Yep. And it’s something unpredictable.

The quickest and easiest way to open the box is break it open, by force. With no regard to the damage to the box. Most people wouldn’t bother with any other option. They’d just break it open. Sounds logical—the easiest route to getting something done is to take the quick (presumed easy) route.

For some, the suggestion that leadership can’t solve all problems is hearsay. Sure, leadership is a mighty tool. Yet in the practical, day-to-day sense, leadership is not always what is needed. And, yes, sometimes it can (gasp) get in the way.

Wondering if you’re leading inspirationally during these extraordinary times? Well, forget those 10-page Harvard research reports or the 10,000 word Atlantic articles. Here is a quick, direct, and mildly accurate quiz to determine your inspirational leadership level.

Einstein was right: Everything is relative. Certainly in physics, anyway. But outside of that science? How about this: Leadership is relative, too. Or at least becoming a “leader.” How so? The most significant variable to leadership growth is “relative” -- It’s you.

First, let’s clear this up. It wasn’t called a start-up in 1990. It was simply a company with unpredictable cash flow, three computers, and a few customers. Not much sexy about that.

A month into the New Year and no change. Are those inspirational resolutions that seemed so promising on Dec 31 still sitting in a word document titled “draft goals?”

“What is the purpose of a business?” the speaker at a business luncheon asked. The presenter – an articulate young guy with a dapper jacket and equally dapper presence— scanned the room and asked the question again. “What is the purpose of a business?”

As is usual at these events, silence filled the room until I raised my hand and steadily and confidently stated, “To achieve its mission.”

“No,” the now less-dapper speaker responded tersely. He continued surveying the room searching for the (his) right answer. I failed to hear the room’s other answers and I don’t know what he said the (his) right answer was because I already know what it is. And I’ll say it again, in case the guy is still searching for the right answer.