Tag: achieving

The Craftsman and the Machine

~ David Willis ~ Leave a comment

I’m reading Cal Newport’s So Good They Can’t Ignore You, and I keep seeing his argument play out in real time at work.

Newport says rare and valuable skills — career capital — are what give you leverage. The craftsman builds that capital through reps, not passion. Show up, get deep, get good. The leverage follows.

But what happens to the craftsman when a machine can do the surface-level work in thirty seconds?

I’ve been watching AI adoption in my field for months now, and I see three groups forming.

The first group is leaning in. They’re learning everything they can. They’re training the AI, building context, making the partnership between human and machine as smart as it can be. They’re using the tool to augment their thinking — not replace it. These are today’s craftsmen, and the career capital they’re building right now is going to pay off.

The second group is leaning harder into the work itself — but ignoring the tool. They’re getting the right answers, but not as fast as they could. They’re not teaching the AI their context. They’re not augmenting their thinking so they can do more. They’re good at what they do, and that’s going to carry them for a while. But they’re going to fall behind, because the first group is doing everything they’re doing plus more.

The third group is saying screw it. No AI. Not interested. And they’re the ones who are going to get left behind entirely.

Here’s the thing Newport gets right that applies directly to this moment: career capital isn’t devalued by AI if you know what you’re doing. If you can partner with the machine to do your work better, faster, and deeper — your skills become more valuable, not less. The craftsman who picks up a power tool doesn’t lose his craft. He builds faster.

But if you’ve been pretending — if you’ve been skating on surface knowledge and the AI exposes that — you’re in trouble. There’s no other way to say it.

I ran a demo last week where I asked a system a question in plain English and watched it produce the SQL in real time. I could evaluate whether the output was right because I’ve been doing this work for twenty years. But what happens in five years when someone with two years of experience runs that same demo and can’t catch the errors?

That’s the question that keeps me up at night.

The answer isn’t to fear the machine. The answer is humility. Learn. Do your reps. Stop being arrogant about what you think you know and start being honest about what you don’t. Because the AI is going to have more compute power than any of us, and it’s going to get to answers faster than any of us. But it’s not going to have the human filter we need.

You’ve got to be humble. You’ve got to be aware. And you’ve got to do your job the best that you can to keep the AI honest.

That’s the craftsman’s job now. Not just building the thing. Building the thing and making sure the machine didn’t cut the corners you’d never accept.

The Challenge From My Son

~ David Willis ~ Leave a comment

My son was a couple of days into a 30-day ab challenge when he invited me to join him — and that’s not the kind of invitation you turn down.

So I jumped in. And then, because apparently I can’t leave well enough alone, I extended it to 60 days. He got me started. That’s what matters.

Today was Day 24. A hundred and thirty crunches. Fifty-two leg lifts. A two-minute and five-second plank.

On Day 1, it was fifteen crunches, six leg raises, and a ten-second plank. Every day adds reps. Every day gets a little harder. And every day I show up and do it anyway.

I’m a barrel-chested man in the 270s. I’m probably never going to have a six-pack. But I can already see more definition through my midsection than I’ve seen in years. The fact that I can see muscle forming underneath the weight I’m still trying to lose is more encouraging than any number on the scale.

The planks are getting long enough now that I have to start breaking them up. Two minutes doesn’t sound like much until you’re holding your body weight off the ground and counting seconds. At 270-something pounds, every second earns its place.

My son invited me into something he was already doing. He didn’t lecture me about fitness. He didn’t send me an article. He just started, and then he asked if I wanted to come along.

That’s how the best challenges work. Somebody’s already in motion, and they make room for you to join.

I’m grateful for a son who challenges his dad to be better. And I’m grateful that twenty-four days in, the reps are getting harder and I’m getting stronger.

Fifteen Years Later

~ David Willis ~ Leave a comment

I ran across something I wrote in 2011 about Donald Miller’s A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. The idea that stuck with me then was simple: a character doesn’t change unless they go through hard times and conflict. Without it, the character stays one-dimensional.

I used Braveheart as my example. I’ve always loved that story. Scotland wouldn’t have won their freedom if William Wallace hadn’t gone through the pain of losing his wife. Her death changed the direction of his life.

Some things don’t change. I still reach for Braveheart every time I need to make a point about story.

But here’s what hit me rereading my own words from fifteen years ago.

My wife said something in that post that I quoted at the time: “Life never does quite work out the way we have planned, does it? So why do we wait for it to? We expect to live a neat and tidy life, but we both know it isn’t going to happen.”

That was 2011. She was right then. She’s still right now. Our lives have been anything but neat and tidy. Cancer — twice. Over five years of trying to have our son. Losing people we love. Career changes. Cross-country moves. None of it followed the timeline we set.

In 2011, I ended that post by saying we were “in pursuit of life.” That we were choosing to write a better story. That we didn’t have everything figured out but we didn’t have to.

Here’s what’s different fifteen years later: I actually did it.

Not right away. I spent another decade filling notebooks and making plans I didn’t follow through on. I had the knowledge. I had the books on the shelf. What I didn’t have was a system to turn intention into execution.

On January 1, 2026, I built the system first. A daily blog that forces me to process what I’m learning. A published novel that proved the dreams in those notebooks were real. Eighty-five days in a row of showing up.

The 2011 version of me knew the right words. The 2026 version of me is living them.

Donald Miller wrote that you have to go pursue life — that it won’t come to you. He hiked the Inca Trail. He biked across America. He started a mentoring project. He couldn’t sit and wait.

I didn’t hike a trail or bike across the country. I sat down at a desk with a cup of coffee and started asking better questions. And that turned out to be enough.

My bride said it best fifteen years ago and she’s still right: life isn’t going to be neat and tidy. The story wouldn’t be worth reading if it were.

Evidence of Creativity

~ David Willis ~ Leave a comment

Assessment Week 2 — Day 2 | The 7-40 Challenge

Some people would try to tell you that creativity is hard. That only certain people are creative, and only at certain times. Like creativity is this mystical thing sitting just beyond a veil — and that veil only opens for the fortunate few who know the wizard behind the curtain or get lucky.

I think creativity is something we use every day. To solve problems. To see things in new ways. To stay sane when everything else wants to drive us crazy.

Today, the family and I went on adventures. Mini golf. Go-karts. Ice cream. It was a really good day, and it was long overdue.

We also went to Barnes & Noble. I love a good bookstore. Not just because I want to buy everything on the shelves — though yes, partly that. It’s because I love looking around at evidence of the creativity of so many different people. Every book on that shelf represents months, if not years, of someone’s concentration and frustration and persistence. Just to get that book onto that shelf. I find it inspiring in ways I can’t fully explain. It makes me want to be creative myself.

Which leads me to the point.

While walking around the store today, I started brainstorming a new story idea. And while I struggled with new creative ideas for the longest time, something has changed since I started engaging my creative muscles every single day — either working on the ideas I already have, seeing old ideas in new ways, or just coming up with something brand new.

Things seem to come when I start talking to myself. I opened my voice-to-text and started asking questions. And what came out was a mashup of ideas that I don’t know if anybody has thought of before. Two very old stories, rearranged and combined into something completely new.

The idea itself isn’t the point of this post. I’ll work on it and share it another time.

The point is this: sometimes we think we have to create brand new things out of thin air. That’s just not the truth. Sometimes the most creative thing you can do is take two or three things that already exist and throw them at each other to see what sticks. Remix what’s already out there. Combine things nobody thought to combine.

I did that today, walking around a bookstore with no agenda, and I was pleasantly surprised at how quickly the ideas and the outline started coming together.

If you’ve got a creative endeavor you’re working on and you’re stuck — go someplace out of the norm. Look at things that seem completely unrelated to what you’re doing. Start thinking about how you could remix what already exists into something uniquely yours. How could you see what’s in front of you in a way nobody else has?

Think outside the box. I did it today.

And I was pleasantly surprised with the result.

Assessment Week 2 — Day 2. Mini golf, go-karts, ice cream, and a new story born in a bookstore. Rest looks different than I expected.

Cover Band

~ David Willis ~ Leave a comment

Day 79 | The 7-40 Challenge

I’m about to open a piece about not playing covers with a cover. I know. Stay with me.

Todd Henry makes a distinction between cover bands and original artists. A cover band can be really good — fill a room, play the songs people love, make decent money on a Friday night. But there’s always another cover band coming that plays those songs a little better. The ceiling is built in, because you’re performing someone else’s work. An original artist risks silence. Nobody claps when they don’t recognize the song. But the work is yours.

When we’re kids, we copy. That’s how we learn. We mimic behaviors, repeat patterns, try on other people’s styles. That’s development. But at some point, you’re supposed to stop covering and start writing your own songs. And I wonder how many of us are stuck at the toddler stage — still mimicking, not because we lack talent, but because originals are terrifying and covers are safe.

I spent twenty years covering. I read Donald Miller and started telling people about “living a good story.” I read Seth Godin and started talking about tribes and linchpins. I gave speeches using their ideas as scaffolding. I filled notebooks with goals that sounded like remixed versions of books I’d read. I was a really good cover band. But I was still playing other people’s songs.

The shift happened slowly, then caught me off guard. Somewhere after the second round of cancer, after years of sitting with ideas long enough to pressure-test them against my own life, I stopped quoting and started originating. Not because Miller and Godin stopped mattering — but because I’d finally lived enough to have something of my own to say.

I used to say “tell a good story with your life” because Donald Miller said it and it sounded right. Now I say “tell the stories of your life so they can help people” — because that’s what I actually believe, and it came from seventy-nine days of doing it in public, not from a book I read in 2008.

Right now, all I’m playing is originals. My blog gets ten to twelve views a day. Nobody is cheering loudly. I am an original artist playing to a small room, and I am staying on stage — not because the crowd is big, but because the music is mine.

And here’s the part I didn’t plan.

I sang in an eighth-grade show choir because I was copying what seemed fun. I joined high school choir because I was mimicking kids who seemed like they belonged. I earned a music scholarship because I practiced something I’d started by imitation. And that scholarship put me in the exact place where I met the woman I’ve been married to for twenty-seven years.

Following something genuinely mine — not someone else’s career path, not someone else’s definition of success, just a voice I was learning to use — led me to the most important person in my life. I couldn’t have planned that. Originals take you places covers never could. You just can’t see the destination from the stage.

Day 79 of 280. One day left in Round 2.