Echo:
Marcus had two weeks to send his agent the book proposal he had been circling for six years.
In January, he’d decided what this year was for. After two decades leading company turnarounds, he wanted to write down what he’d learned about rescuing organizations without breaking the people inside them. He had an agent, an outline, and a November 15 deadline. And he had a plan: three mornings a week, protected for writing.
The plan held until September. Then a major client’s audit hit a snag. A board member asked for a “quick” analysis before the next meeting. A vendor dispute needed someone senior on the phone.
Each request was genuinely urgent, and each one landed on Marcus because he could handle it faster than anyone. Saying yes made sense in the moment. It was the accumulation that gradually took his year in another direction.
By late October, he hadn’t written a page in six weeks.
“I’ll get back to it once things calm down,” he told me.
“When did things last calm down?” I asked.
He laughed, then stopped. “Around 2011.”
So we examined the requests one at a time. Which genuinely needed his attention? What could wait? Who else was capable of handling it? And what was being displaced each time he said yes?
His deputy had managed the client’s account for three years. The board member’s analysis could wait until the following Thursday without anyone minding. The vendor dispute belonged to his operations lead, who had been waiting for Marcus to step back.
The book was the only item on the list that no one else could do.
Urgency doesn't have to change our priorities to take control of our lives. It only has to keep us responding to what comes next.
Marcus handed the audit to his deputy that afternoon. He told the board member to expect the analysis the following Thursday, and he told his operations lead the vendor was hers. Then he put his three mornings back on the calendar and marked them the way he marked board meetings.
The urgent requests didn't disappear. His deputy had questions. The board member wasn't delighted about waiting. But Marcus kept his three mornings, and on November 14, he sent the proposal.
“The emergencies kept coming,” he told me afterward. “I stopped letting them decide what my year was for.”
Urgency always arrives with a deadline attached. The direction you chose for your life rarely does, which is why it needs you to keep choosing it.
And that’s the Gist of it.
This idea first took root in the essay “When Urgency Silences Wisdom.” If you want more insight, that essay is waiting for you here.
Thank you for reading.
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Marilyn Gist