Some more food for thought, following my post from last week:

• Brain Pickers: Be specific. A few months ago, a man approached me--or more accurately reproached me--about my company's attitude toward him. He had wanted to work with us, but we weren't being receptive.

 "OK," I said, "tell me more."

He did, telling me nothing that would indicate why we should work together, only that he resented that my company charged for advertising across our network. If only we let him share his product with our community in partnership, we'd see what a great fit they were with us.

After the event, I followed up with him, as I was sensitive to the fact that prior to our meeting he had felt unheard. I explained that we were approached by people asking to partner like this often, and unless there was something that would benefit us both upfront it would be hard to justify a test relationship. Did he have any ideas? Anything to make me think we should place a bet on him by changing our business model to work with him? His note back was short: He had been hoping I would have thought of something. 

This is arrogant: Assuming that others should immediately see your value to them. And it's lazy. I'm sure that many callers aren't intending to be that way when they approach with little specificity--I'm sure many think they are being accommodating by not assuming how they could work with you. But with time at such a premium, I prefer to receive a note that says: "I think we should work together because of X" and letting me counter if that reason isn't important to me, rather than saying, "I really like what you are doing, let's talk and see if there's a way to work together."

• Brain Pickees: Consider everyone a potential resource. Mahalo Founder and serial entrepreneur Jason Calacanis openly condemns VCs and angel funders who charge entrepreneurs for the opportunity to pitch their businesses, and I have to agree with him. The sources that are worth their salt--and Calacanis points to VC Fred Wilson as an example--may be tough to reach because they are busy people, but if your concept is worth something and you present yourself well, you should get a meeting, without paying for it.

I learned this waaay back when I was in print publishing: You don't pay an agent to read your manuscript. Sure, it takes some moxie getting an agent to see your work, but agents that charge you for the opportunity tend not to have the reputation required to take your work to the next level.

It may seem counter-intuitive but it's true, because successful people don't stop looking for ideas and opportunities. They don't "top out" once they reach the big time. As much as I don't always agree with Diddy's approach to talent development (as I've seen on his various Making the Band programs), I do admire his willingness to go back to the roots of what gave him success in the first place in order to mine new talent and stay fresh and relevant in the music industry. In many ways his show is an early, analog version of curated crowdsourcing that worked.

• Brain Pickers: Be useful: Back when my partners and I were contemplating seeking venture capital funding to grow our business, we sought out a number of experienced people like Guy Kawasaki, Steve Perlman and Caterina Fake to help us get some perspective on whether to do this, and if we were to, how to do it right. These are some busy, successful people, but they were only too happy to help, for many reasons. These people were very generous with their time, and we made sure we didn't waste it. We also did what we could to be useful.

You may come to the table thinking you have nothing to offer someone who is already successful, but put yourself in their shoes: Often success can  become a buffer from some of the less-desirable things about entrepreneurship (like having to do everything, even the things you're not good at) but it can also keep you a few feet removed from the ground, where you have access to information. I often complain that as our business grows, I have less time now to get the skinny on my favorite topics on blogs. Nor can I go to as many meet-ups, where even the most random small talk yields insights on my industry. I have to make an extra effort to stay connected, which a few years ago was part of my everyday world.

When we met with Guy Kawasaki, he was in transition, learning more about the blogosphere and what made it tick. I can only hope that in some exchange for his wisdom we were able to bring him closer to the the space before his new venture, popular with the women's blogging community, AllTop launched.

Before I get my brain picked, I often ask myself, "What new things can I learn from this conversation?" Before I pick a brain, I ask, what info can I bring to the table?

• Brain Pickees: Expand your horizons. This goes back to consider everyone a resource. But even while being open you might not see opportunities in places that are surprisingly fertile. A few months ago, I was approached by someone I'd met years ago to be on the advisory board of a children's entertainment and educational company he now headed. He was aware that I could not offer up free media or proprietary information; he just wanted to tap my thoughts on marketing to moms.

I don't have kids, so the free DVDs weren't what tipped me to saying yes. Rather, it seemed like an opportunity to get better at what I currently do. The beauty of the position is that it has re-enforced my connection and thought leadership in an area in which I knew a lot, but now know much more. I've gleaned new insights for my own business as a result. Now that's a win-win.

• Brain Pickers: Let people know when picking their brain has helped. And pick your moments. So this goes back to good old-fashioned upbringing and lives next to writing thank you notes in my top five things that have carried over from my mother's nagging. But having now been on the other side of the equation, and having seen how my helping someone has made a difference, I insist on doing this when I am helped. When people I help do this, I am more excited to help them again.

That said, even if you send home-baked goods to everyone who has helped you, if you ask for too much too often, you wear out the good will. People can only eat so many cupcakes. People who continually go to the well because they are thirsty will find it dry if they don't give it time to fill up naturally. For this reason I recommend that BPs pick the best use of a source's time and not waste it on things she could get without that source's help. I recall responding to a stranger's emailed request for help starting her personal blog with a few general resources for getting started. I don't do this kind of work and thought she should have researched what I do at my company before sending her request, but I appreciated her desire to get started and wanted to encourage her. When she followed up asking me to interpret some confusing information on the site I sent her to, I was much less helpful: I told her to do exactly what I did when I started a blog and needed help: Call customer support.

This example is egregious, but think of people you might have helped in the past who followed up, essentially because they did not want to do the work that you suggested. If you provide support you are enabling them to eventually fail.

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Having people ask to "pick your brain" can be the ultimate compliment to an entrepreneur. It makes us feel like we're experts in something, or that we've been successful enough at something that someone values our thoughts. But brain picking comes in many shapes and colors. Some brain pickers (BPs) are just looking for inspiration; talking with you stirs their own ideas. Others want resources--money, contacts, insider knowledge that will help them with their endeavors. None of these are inherently bad, but none of them are good if you aren't getting something out of the sharing.

I used to love it when people asked to pick my brain, especially early into the business. I might not have been drawing a paycheck, but by golly! Someone wanted to talk to me about something. It was a small sign of traction.

Today it's different. I still love helping people, but I've been confronted with the limits of my time and energy. I've had to be brutal at times about how I prioritize "non-business-related" requests. And I feel badly about it, I mean what entrepreneur doesn't include in her war stories a paean or five for the big shots who threw her a bone--a contact, and introduction, or an informed opinion--her way that made all the difference. Since becoming an entrepreneur I've become more determined than ever to pay it forward.

But paying it forward can't be confused with sucking yourself dry. Even while helping others with their endeavors, I see no reason why we can't always strive for win-win situations. I hope that the following ideas stir your thinking--both brain pickers and pickees. I'll write this up in installments this week. But let's start with a few:

• Brain Pickees: It's OK to say, "Not a good time." Even if you want to help someone, sometimes you can't. I recall respected peers asking for business intros and advice when it just wasn't appropriate for me to provide it. Perhaps my company was in the midst of a negotiation with the requested company, or sharing my info would compromise others. It sounds like common sense to respectfully decline, but it really is a tough lesson to follow, especially because of the "pay it forward" thing we entrepreneurs tend to ascribe to.

• Brain Pickers: Make giving you help as easy as falling out of bed in the morning. I have a pal who is a budding, but successful, entrepreneur. She runs a women's community. "I knew that things were starting to go well when people started reaching out to me, asking me for help," she says. A doctor and artist, she's had many different career lives and experiences, so she was asked just about everything, from "Do I have H1N1?" to "How did you start a business?" At some point, the requests began to hinder her everyday work. She decided to create a filter, if you will, to separate the quickie information seekers from the serious people.

"I ask them if they will join me for a hike," she says. Some background: my friend lives in what could best be described as a remote area, near the lovely, pristine Marin coastline. She's committed to hiking an hour each day. I've joined her, and it ain't a quick jaunt or drive.

"The right people will make it out and help me kill two birds with one stone," she says.

Likewise for me. If I am approached by someone who is seeking information that is not a part of my daily business plan, they must be willing to call me in my car (as my commute hours are often the best place to reach me), or make it to my office. If you miss the time that we've agreed upon for a chat, please let me know in advance, and give me a good reason. If you miss the time, I won't be calling you to reschedule. In some cases, if the person seems to be disrespectful of my time, I won't respond to requests to reschedule.

Again, it's not about being cruel or mean, it's about saving time for the good stuff, and for the people who will use your time well.

More to come later this week.

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I fly a lot on business. A lot. A couple of years ago I started actively flying on United because it's a major airline at my local airport, SFO, and it flies regularly to the cities I fly to most often: New York and Chicago. And I started doing the math and realized I wasn't doing myself any favors by constantly changing my airline and finding myself booked in the back of the plan, next to the bathrooms, every time.

I'm not sure what my total miles are for this year, but as of this date I've amassed about 240,000 miles and 40 upgrade segments. This is my balance after paying 45,000 miles for a Red Carpet Club membership and spending some of my segments on upgrades. If the demand for upgrades by other frequent fliers were not a factor, I would get to upgrade to business or first class every time I fly.

This year, despite my "1K" status, which I love to throw around when I want something from United (like a guaranteed upgrade) there are some things that still elude me. Even when I book well in advance, I get upgraded to business or first class maybe 50 percent of the time. And about 40 percent of the times that I do get upgraded, it's on a plane with what I call "lame first class"--an antiquated model that only affords bennies like a slightly wider seat and no charge for a snack box (the flight attendant even pre-opens it for me, so I don't break a nail trying to get the plastic off.) Despite the claims that some flights have wireless, I have yet to experience one, and only a handful of planes have charging outlets (and of the ones that do I need to contort myself like a Cirque du Soleil performer to reach it, feeling under my seat for the two indiscriminate holes where an outlet is rumored to be.)

Needless to say I have been disappointed in my United 1K membership, despite having flown with them an estimated 40 times this year (and about 120 times over the past 3 years), including international trips that required connecting legs on partner airlines that didn't always honor my miles (or made it difficult to redeem them), dinky puddle-jumping legs from one of their hub airports, and the standard flights to New York or Chicago.

I'll say upfront I'm not always loyal to United. Our office manager won't book me on it if I'm not flying their more common routes and have to pay a small salary to stick with them. I've flown Delta to Florida, Atlanta, and Cincinnati, which saved me time and money. I've flown Southwest to LA, San Diego, Phoenix, and Las Vegas and see no reason why I should pay more for these quick jaunts. But still, I would say I qualify as a loyal United customer because I fly them most often.

So imagine my surprise today, as I'm checking into my flight from JFK to SFO, when I ask the attendant at the check in counter what my chances are of getting upgraded:

"You are fourth on the list."

"Really. Do you think my chances are good?"

"Mmm depends. You have two other 1Ks and a Global Services member ahead of you."

I've heard of "Global Services" and see that these folks get preference over 1Ks, but I've never been sure why.

I ask the attendant, "What does it take to be a Global Services member?"

"You have to be invited."

"REALLY! And what does it take to be invited?"

"I really don't know, ma'am."

I could feel the surface of the soapbox materialize under my feet. You have to be INVITED into this club? And the criteria isn't public? Naturally, I don't take this as a final answer.

"C'mon, you must really know: Do I need a certain number of miles?"

"I don't know, ma'am."

"Do you need to spend a certain amount of money?"

"Again ma'am, I don't really know."

"Do you need to be deemed important somehow?"

The attendant shrugged his shoulders, and with this gesture I backed off. I told him,

"I'm going to find out why I haven't been invited to be a Global Services member. Mark my words."

And I say to all of you. A gal who has built a business grounded in meritocracy: Mark. My. Words.

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(Caption: Our view of Big Sur)

I met Kareem because we needed a contract script writer--badly. Copywriting was not Kareem's only career strength, and not exactly a career passion, but the project was temporary, and he had just come from a digital agency with too much experience on his resume to get picked up immediately in a downsizing economy.

Prior to meeting Kareem I'd spoken on the phone to another writer with an agency background. She was ready and eager to jump into our project. Shortly, after being briefed about the aggressive deadlines and requirements of the client, she reconsidered and backed away, mid-script. We were supposed to shoot the following week.

In ideal circumstances, we strive for a sane approach to project management, where we plan such things as scriptwriting and shooting schedules way in advance, but being in this Webby world we're in, projects are often inked close to launch. Some people thrive in this kind of environment, some fight it and give in begrudgingly, some reject it outright. I needed to see how Kareem would react early, before hiring him.

I was brutally frank in our interview. Our "co-created" project with Brand X was exciting stuff, but it was not without client oversight and last-minute changes. I said something that I wish I hadn't,

"I need someone who's comfortable with user-generated content that's not all user-generated...I mean, it is, but with an eye toward the brand... not that they want to influence the script, of course...it must be authentic, but brand-friendly..."

I decided to look up from staring down at Kareem's extensive resume; he remained smiling and calm.

"Yes, I think I understand," he said. He told me of several on-set projects he'd done as a creative director. The personalities he'd encountered, the seemingly contradictory directives. It was clear to me that, from a production standpoint, he'd seen it all, and he understood the dichotomous nature of client work--something that often relied on a paradoxical act of creating authentic connection. He didn't bristle when I told him we were shooting next week and still needed scripts to submit for approval. And these scripts depended on the availability of his script subjects, whom had yet to be selected, let alone contacted.

"No problem," he said.

The following week, he arrived for a briefing meeting with snacks for the team. Shortly thereafter, scripts written and approved, he arrived at the set early with props that our producer had trouble procuring. Everyone who had arrived on-set had been briefed by him and was ready to go. He got along famously with the camera crew and director. Later, when the rough cuts were complete he adeptly knew where to cut and even how to retroactively make guests look more comfortable than they actually were. Client requests that may have overwhelmed another writer/producer were creatively integrated with no complaints.

After our final shoot he suggested we go grab some coffee. Already I was trying to think of how else we could work with Kareem until a more suitable position opened up for him.

It was a hot day; I sipped ice-coffee in an air-conditioned Starbucks. He asked me, "Do you fly much?"

Seeing as I tend to fly every, or every other, week, I answered in the affirmative.

"Have you ever flown in a single turbo prop?"

I thought of the little puddle jumpers I sometimes flew in to get from Chicago to Cinncinnati, or SF to Palm Springs. But Kareem was talking REALLY small. Like airplanes as small as my car.

In Kareem's spare time, he loved to fly. In fact, he's been an instructor off and on; in fact he met his wife, Taylor, when she was learning to fly. He showed me some pics of his plane, which elicited an immediate "Wow!"

"It's hard to explain to people," Kareem said. "Most people who learn that I own a plane think I must be filthy rich or something. It's really not like that. Owning a plane is like owning an expensive car, only it's probably much, much older and requires more maintenance."

I've never had an interest in aviation, but to hear Kareem explain to me the differences between commercial and private air travel, the government lobbying that was going to punish the non-millionaire plane owners, even how JFK Jr. should have read his instruments to calculate the horizon, was fascinating to me. He and Taylor would take quick trips to places like Mendocino or Oregon, have lunch, and fly back home, for fun.

"You should come up with us sometime," he said. I agreed, thinking that, rather, I should have my husband, Jesse, join them sometime. Absolutely, they should take HIM up with them.

Over the next few months, Kareem met Jesse, and I met Taylor, and we all got along famously, and the once-mentioned flying trip was mentioned again. Having this trip come closer to reality I realized I was a bit fearful--of what I'm not sure. Kareem's knowledge was unquestionable, as was his experience. I worried about getting sick, or getting vertigo in such a small plane. But Jesse was determined to go, and determined that I go with him. We set a date.

The week before our trip Kareem asked me to send him mine and Jesse's collective weight so that he could calibrate the amount of fuel that would be necessary. This question made me wonder just how stable a piece of machinery is that needs to be calibrated according to my weight. Would it matter if I fudged mine by five pounds?

The day of the trek was gorgeous, even by Californian standards. The visibility was perfect, the sun warmed the 70-degree air in the East Bay. We drove Kareem and Taylor to the municipal airport and parked next to the plane. Our car had more room than their turbo prop.


Jesse asked various questions about the engine, his voice and Kareem's starting to sound like the teacher's in the Peanuts cartoon ("Wha-wha-WHA-wha....). All I could gather was that the engine was relatively new, compared to the plane itself. Kareem's voice came back to comprehension when I heard him utter the following to Jesse:

"...you and Jory are going to be flying the plane." I tried to breathe easy, thinking to myself, OK we would each get to ride shotgun for a leg, but that was it." He couldn't really expect us to fly this thing.

I was starting to get excited as we taxied toward the runway. Kareem's voice was recongnizable but barely comprehendable as he spoke airplanese to ground control. A lot of numbers were said so quickly I couldn't make out what he was referring to.

"I'm telling them where I am intending to take off and at what angle," is my translation of what Kareem explained to us. We all had our headsets on; I decided not to muck up critical airwaves with any ridiculous questions. So I sat there silently next to Taylor, breathing deeply.

The takeoff was magnificent. We floated higher and higher. Kareem's voice never rose above an easy, conversational tone. He uttered a few more unintellible things into his mike, to ground control, and then turned to face me and Taylor, in back.

"Notice that this plane can still go without me steering it all the time," Kareem said. "That's how planes operate. They know how to fly straight once you set them on a course."

I thought, thank you for the demo, Kareem, now would you please put your hands BACK on the controls, please?

But that didn't happen, Kareem turned to Jesse, "OK Jesse, time for you to fly." He shared some fundamental information about how to climb, how to descend, and keeping a course, then left Jesse to his own devices.

We decided to go to San Luis Obispo, where there was a nice lunch spot at the municipal airport, and a great beach nearby. Kareem walked me through how he calculated a time to descend, all while Jesse steered the plane. Once, when we hit some choppy air, he took over. The plane shook rather abruptly and freefell briefly twice. I gasped. Kareem calmly called ground control and in airplanese let them know of the chop. I looked over at Taylor, wondering if perhaps she might have barfed on herself. No luck. She sat there placidly.

Shortly afterward Kareem landed. I was expecting more drama, given the choppiness of the air, but we left it at about 3,000 feet and landed perfectly.

Over lunch we talked about the ride. Kareem and Taylor explained how they typically plug in their iPod and listen to music together, in silence, while in the air. They went out nearly every weekend. I laughed about how luxurious it must be.

"This is what we do," Kareem said. "This is how we spend our time and money." This resonated with me. What I think he meant was, we don't do this so that we can say we have an airplane and fly to San Luis Obispo for lunch. The destinations are secondary. We do this because we love flying.

I wondered to myself, what was my form of flying, something that I shared with Jesse that, perhaps, one was better at than the other but that both of us loved to do. That we relied on doing together. We have a few candidates that rotate in and out. But I think we need to pick one as the primary activity, as a focal point that the others may revolve around. Especially with so much of my life on the road, it's easy to be a dilettante. I wanted me and Jesse to be as masterful at our thing and as in-synch as Kareem and Taylor were in the air.

I was hoping Kareem would forget his offer of having me fly on the way back, especially since Jesse had requested flying back along the Coast, which, along with a headwind, would mean a longer flight." As we climbed Kareem prepared me with a quick lesson on the controls. I recalled a time when I'd heard that tone of voice of his earlier, when we were on-set, and he was coaching one of the more nervous guests on our video show. He never had to tell her to relax, he just encouraged her when she did things right, similar to what he was now doing with me.

"You're doing great Jory ... you know what? I think I want to go a bit closer to coast, why don't you take us that way?"

I wanted to look out the side window and get a passenger's view, one that I tend to prefer when embarking on new journeys, but I could see that wasn't an option. And my competitiveness compelled me to fly at least as long as Jesse did.

Don't get too fixated on the instruments, Kareem said. Rather, see where I wanted to go and stay focused on that. The dashboard obfuscated my full view of the horizon, so I initially steered by staring at our compass heading. Once I was comfortable, I looked at the coastline in front of me. I felt like I did when I was a child on my Dad's sailboat, on our way back to the harbor, and he gave me the tiller: "See that building," he'd say, pointing to the Chicago skyline, "go thataway." I'd look at the compass heading and microposition constantly to stay on that mark, waiting for him to take over as we got closer to shore. I just didn't want to screw this up.

"OK, Jory, let's take it down to 5,500 feet."

A few minutes later, "Now 4,500."

And on we went, until Kareem took control again and I could see our speed as it appeared next to motionless buildings out the side window.  

 

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Kris at The HR Capitalist caught my attention with his post, "Being a Star - Either Put In More Hours Than Others, or Start Eliminating Stuff (But Stop Whining)...." He says:

Work/life balance is a choice.  You won't be able to be your version of Bono with work/life balance as your goal.  More and more, I run into super sharp people who are amazed at the entitlement culture of talented folks who say they want to be stars, but won't put in the time to outwork others and are outraged when told that's what it takes.

If you are not inclined to put in more hours, Kris says, "you need to start eliminating things that you don't think matter, the things you can get away with not doing, not being involved with at work."

This is the choice of anyone seeking success, but notably of the entrepreneur. As my company has grown, my time management strategy as evolved--or devolved as the case may be:

• Phase 1--The first date that won't end: You have a crush on all the excitement that your business is providing for you in life and unwittingly give it all the time that it needs. Other things need to happen, like sleep, so you just add more work hours to your day and keep plugging after dinner, or after your spouse knocks off for bed. When opportunities present themselves, you drop everything.  For instance, someone you've wanted to meet with for some time wants to connect for breakfast at 7:30 a.m. the next day in New York City, and you are in San Francisco. No problem! Sure you don't feel great after taking a red-eye, but you make it there. And you've set up other back-to-back meetings to get the most out of your time. By the time you are back at the airport you realize you might not have mentioned your whereabouts to your spouse but know he'll understand. And you know that this phase can't last forever, but you must take full advantage of every opportunity now, while you have it.

• Phase 2--The Trade-offs: You realize that other things--hobbies, friends, wellness--are being impacted, but hopefully now you are experiencing some growth and cannot imagine losing momentum in order to stop and smell the roses. Also, expectations have been set. Clients on the East Coast expect that you will be available during the wee hours of the morning on the West Coast; you've told them to call you if they wanted to talk--anytime; they're just taking you up on your offer. All those opportunities that you have been pushing for are now happening; and you must be there to implement them. You can't imagine having others do it during such a delicate, relationship-building phase. You plan to eventually build replicable, delegatable processes, but you must trail-blaze for how.

You try to fit it all in, but even with extended hours you can't. So you compromise on everything except your business. You skip those biannual physical exams, you whittle that full workout into a few sit-ups before bed, you spam an eGreeting card to your address book this year instead of sending individually written cards. That quality time you book nightly with your spouse or the kids is spent responding to email while sitting next to him on the couch. You don't have to meet with people in-person today, so you forgo showering and getting dressed--time is money, people! The first time you skip these things it feels bad; the second time you can justify it as something you're sacrificing "for now", the third time you've re-identified yourself: "I guess I'm just going to be 10 pounds heavier." "I've never been much of a home cook." "I'm just not a neat person." "I'm the kind of person who always has to be doing something." ...

You start to fear that your tradeoffs are becoming more and more visible. You look older. You have creaky knees and your neck hurts. You indiscriminately hand people not associated with your business, like your drycleaner, your business card. You develop this glassy look that signals to your domestic partner that you are assessing what else you need to get done today, not listening to his suggestions for what to have for dinner. You meet up with friends you haven't seen in ages, and when they ask how you are doing, you update them on your calendar and on your competition.

• Phase 3--Signs of wear and tear: You have much to show for your hard work--both good and bad. You are still pushing hard; forget about cruise-control. But you can speak confidently about the future of your business.

Through accidental situations, like delayed flights and malfunctioning electronics, you find yourself with small pockets of unscheduled time and have no idea what to do with it: Pick up a newspaper and at least familiarize yourself with the happenings in the world, pet your cat, or call people? You realize you don't know where to start and defer to doodling in your notebook. You go to the dentist and they declare you're in for a year of orthodontics due to stress-induced jaw alignment issues. You understand the urgency but just don't know how you can fit that sort of thing into your schedule at this time. Pain is also very time consuming--feeling it, preventing it, containing it. You plan another appointment in several months--hopefully enough lead time to plan around it. You later realize that you do have a conflict but you do nothing. Maybe the other party will cancel. You meet up with friends you haven't seen in ages, and when they ask how you are doing, you have nothing to say. You say, "Hanging in, and you?

People call you successful and you wonder, "How so?" Even if you are, you are so used to the act of building momentum that you don't know what success feels like. Perhaps you've overcome it and it's now trailing behind, and you just feel something dragging. You assume it's another problem to attack. You remove your anniversary dinner from your calendar and enter "figure out dragging issue" in its place.

But back to HR Capitalist's two options: Accept that you are going to have to put in the time, or start taking things off your plate. The frustration of a later-stage entrepreneur who's had a few years to cycle through both options is "what else?"

One could say Option 3 is aspire to less. Let's just say for the sake of argument that this was even possible for the entrepreneur, that we could temporarily suppress this unquenchable ambition and could actually make a logical decision to dial it back a bit. I argue that our natures would kick back in, and we would become crazy about something else.

My friend and former coach Kimberly threw something out to me that was similar to Kris's advice, but offered in a way that I could actually consider.

"I'll bet you could back off about 10 percent and no one would even notice," she said.

"But I would notice," I said.

And I thought about that. There are types of effort: level one being "9-5" effort, level two being extraordinary effort, and level three being "Why are you afraid that level two won't suffice?" effort.

I am willing to consider level 2 may be effective.

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