Don't ever be busy. Be efficient.

Busy looks like:

—Meetings for the sake of meetings

—Zoom calls to have Zoom calls

—A meeting instead of sending an email

—Sending a five-paragraph email when one paragraph would do

Don’t be busy.

Be efficient. It’s doing things well without waste.

We all have people at work who are professionals at being busy. We also have people who are efficient.

So tell me. Which one do you prefer working with?

Perseverance is a mindset. Just ask NASA's Perseverance.

persevere | pərsəˈvir 

continue in a course of action even in the face of difficulty or with little or no prospect of success

Americans aren’t wired—maybe not trained—to persevere. We want things now.

Immediate gratification. Instant. Drive-thru style. Fast food.

To persevere is a mindset. It’s seeing success when it doesn’t seem imminent. There’s a reason NASA named its Mars rover “Perseverance.” The 7th-grader from Virginia who won the naming contest for Perseverance talks about adapting and persevering through setbacks in why he chose the name.

“We … will not give up,” he says.

Maybe you’re like me. Over the last few months, I’ve had some professional setbacks. Actually, I’m sure you’re like me.

Honestly, it’s been humbling and really discouraging. You know the feeling, right?

Yet I also know one thing to be true: I can persevere.

I’ve done it before. You’ve done it before, right?

And don’t you remember how the success of perseverance tastes sweeter than anything and erases the bitterness of setbacks?

After all, more than a decade after starting the project, Perseverance sends back to Earth stunning photos of Mars.

Be a maker this year. Make things great.

Over the past couple of months I’m in a “making” frenzy. A creative frenzy.

I made two cutting boards. Helped a son and daughter-in-law do a board and batten wall in their nursery.

Made a desk for another son. Got an idea for a nightstand to make for another son.

I’m making sourdough cinnamon raisin bread this morning. Going to make spaghetti noodles and bread later today.

I have this theory about it.

At work I’ve been doing more editing than writing. I’ve been organizing, working with schedules and spreadsheets and in meetings — many meetings.

I’m about six weeks into a new job and learning about new timelines and processes. I’ve done an amazing amount of onboarding as part of three different organizations. I’ve also had time off over the holidays.

That drive to create isn’t being fed. That drive to write and market and brand and persuade. So it manifests itself in other ways.

I challenge myself to try new things and make new things outside of work. It makes me happy.

I also learn from them. I learn about processes, crafting, refining.

My next cutting board will be a little better. So will my next desk and nightstand.

The next batch of noodles I make will go better than the first.

It’s no different in writing and editing. I keep challenging myself in my writing.

I look back over what I’ve written this past year and two years and five years and see ways to improve. Cleaner. Clearer. Simpler. Better.

What about you? What are you doing better?

Here’s the real question: What WILL you do better in 2021?

Know what you’ll do better and how you’ll do it. Come up with a plan. Challenge yourself.

Seek a mentor. Seek an editor. Ask for help.

Write. A lot.

Make something. Then make it better. Make it greater.

The best ideas are crowdsourced. So crowdsource them.

A CEO I worked for some time ago used to chat me up fairly regularly. I remember he just filled up the room.

By that I mean he did all the talking. Never did any listening. Had all the answers. Had all the gut feelings.

There wasn’t room for anything other than his voice. His thoughts. His direction.

That sums it up. It’s frustrating. It was for me and many of my co-workers. We’re not alone.

Great organizations have leaders who listen. Not every idea that filters up to them will be great.

Some ideas will be amazing. Others should marinate, evolve, get tossed around, go through a brainstorming session.

Some simply won’t be so great.

But the strength of an organization is its voice.

It’s not just one voice. It’s not the CEO’s voice.

It’s not the loudest voice in the room. Or the voice of experience that “has all the answers.”

It’s the organization’s collective voice.

Leaders, do you hear that?

I knew I was in trouble when ... (And lessons learned along the way).

I knew I was in trouble when …

I hit send on that email to a faraway corporate boss, even though something inside me said don’t. (I learned not to do stupid things like that anymore.)

As a young reporter, my editor who would go on to win a Pulitzer Prize told me not to write an article like that anymore. (I studied his writing style and technique.)

As a new writer, I asked my manager what kind of style we use in writing our content and she said they don’t follow any particular style in the company. (I got our writing team to adopt AP style and also made a style guide.)

At a small company, my bosses gathered our team, told us how hard things had been financially in the firm and cut everyone’s hours. Then they booked a vacation to the Caribbean. (I left that company shortly afterward for a better gig.)

I was the newspaper’s Saturday reporter and got an eyebrow-raising assignment to go to an inner-city apartment complex for a story about a recent murder victim. Fortunately, I called the regular crime beat reporter—who was incredulous someone would send me there—who referred me to a police sergeant to make sure I had company. (My instincts were right to call our crime writer and double-check the assignment.)

I was sitting in an Oregon coast funeral home covering the death of a fishing boat captain whose chartered boat went down in rough water, costing the lives of several of his passengers. The fisherman sitting next to me stared intently at me and told me twice he was going to break my nose, probably because he didn’t like the stories he read about his friend.. I walked briskly out. He followed me. My photographer across the street saw the fisherman closing in on me and turned his camera on the guy, stopping him in his tracks. I’m forever grateful to the great photographer and my friend Sol Neelman. (Always make good friends with your photographer.)