All In

~ This article first appeared in The Leader-Vindicator newspaper. ~

I am not a person prone to doing things part way.  Consider, as an example, my fashion.

There was the khaki pants phase in high school.  For reasons I can’t remember it was determined that khakis looked OK and so I refused to wear anything else.  Ever.

This tan existence survived for some time until a fateful day when I accompanied my mom and sister to the barber.  A professional to the core, the lady running the scissors asked if she could work on my hair, too.  “You’re a good looking guy, I can give you a trendy hairstyle to go with your looks,” she said. 

Flagrant flattery.  I love it.  Absolutely you can cut my hair.  And so I ended up with some short-on-the-sides, spiked-on-the-front ordeal that in my mind mandated a new wardrobe which happened to come from an overpriced store for stupid people.  Gone were the khakis in an instant, hello styled jeans and appropriately logo’d shirts. 

Zero deviation from this template took place until college when I realized that nobody was around to tell me that I needed to cut my hair so I let it grow in my face, donned skinny jeans and band t-shirts, and sulked around at concerts while my GPA plummeted faster than the appeal of the shirts with the appropriate logos.

I held on to this catastrophe until I decided that really I’m a country boy and I needed boots and blue jeans and western-styled shirts, and I did that until I realized I looked like an idiot, and today I’m trying hard not to look like anything, which in itself is something, and I’m sticking to it even though I realize it’s pretty ridiculous.

In short: When I decide to do something I do not dip my toes: I dive in.

This is a serious character flaw in many cases.  Nothing exists in such extraordinary extremes as those I perceive so I’m frequently attempting to operate outside the bounds of reality.  I ruin relationships because my expectations are so high and I look frequently like a fool when my plans collapse due to unreasonable objectives.  I’m unreliable because I switch from intensity to languidity overnight when I finally lose grip of my elevated intentions.

It mystifies people around me that I cannot see the middle ground; sometimes simple solutions are right in front of my nose and I overlook them because they don’t fit into my model of “correct”.  I understand that it is happening, but I truly struggle to perceive anything outside an exact template.  Trust me, I would like to change; my life is basically a disaster as a direct result of my tendencies.

There is a fragment of good in my adhesion to the extreme.  When an idea sticks – some of them do - I will push it as far as possible and the results exceed expectations.  For example, customers pull me aside and ask if I’m honest about what our grassfed animals are eating because they’ve had experience with dishonesty from different people throughout their history.  I respond that if only they knew how ridiculously fixated I am on the idea of grain-free beef they would leap for joy.  I’m not going to advertise something that is middle of the road, period.

Agriculture requires a definite plan that is achieved by following indefinite paths.  The most skilled farmers can achieve a goal using unexpected and sometimes unorthodox methods to accomplish what needs done.  Too much creativity leads to fluidity in standards and the weak commitment erodes the plan.  Too much rigidity creates problems when situations change and the rigid path will not bend to the new reality.

Of course a critical part of that changing path is to put in an honest effort to see a creative idea through; that’s the only way to test viability.  To some extent we must see the highest objective and go after it; the trick is to not grab hold with such enthusiasm that we soon become exhausted and walk away.  Incremental steps are necessary. 

I was talking with friends recently about our ideas and the failures accompanying them and one of the guys admitted that in frustration he asked an elder in his community whether or not the old man had ideas when he was young.

“Oh yes,” the man laughed.  “I had plenty of ideas.”

Obviously most of them didn’t work, and yet the guy managed to make it to old age.

I guess that’s what we’re all doing: Seeing what sticks.  Maybe I’ll make it through, too.

I just hope I don’t get the idea to change my clothes again.