…at least not right now.

I want a Mac. Badly. I’ve had a laptop for a few years now, and it’s grown to be a little rather rough around the edges. Namely, the CPU can barely handle running the latest versions of Office and iTunes together; my music has almost filled up the scant 60GB hard drive, and the video port doesn’t work when I need to do presentations.

When I started shopping for a replacement I thought it might finally be time to get a Macbook. An Engineer by background, I’ve always had a heathly dose of tech envy towards Mac owners. What’s not to like? The UNIX-based operating system, built-in webcam, slick casing, and even the simple things like 1-click uploads to Facebook and YouTube. I even switched over to an iPhone recently, believing that it would be my gateway drug to a Mac.

But then, right when I’m about to make the pitch to my wife, my employer assigns me a new Dell laptop. You should see this thing:

It weighs nearly 8lbs, and the 15″ screen is more like 16.5″ with the border frames. Lugging this beast back and forth to work has my chiropractor laughing all the way to the bank.

But the real kicker is that this laptop has shot my whole business case for a Mac. When I received the laptop, I marched right home and declared to my wife that it was unacceptable. I “needed” to get a Mac, and the bulk of this new laptop was my proof. But she responded with simple questions like “can’t you replace that large bag with a sleeve? Doesn’t Windows Vista have speech recognition for dictating articles and such? And how much will this new computer cost versus a Mac?” Ug…by loaning me a functional company laptop, there’s no longer a “need” to do the mega-upgrade.

Why all this fuss over a just a couple thousand dollars? Because the small stuff matters. It’s been said “Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much, and whoever is dishonest with very little will also be dishonest with much.” How does it look if I buy a brand new computer, and then tell my son that he can’t have any more Pokemon packs or ask my wife not to buy any more dress shoes? I really can’t be a leader in my family during lean times, encouraging everyone to save here and there, and then go blow a mortgage payment on what amounts to a luxury item.

Apparently I’m not alone. Fellow Excella consultant Scott Lock talks about a similar debate over a new car. Scott invites us to “Be a Hero” by holding off.

I may not need to be a hero, but I do need to set the right example.

I’ve recently been drawn more and more to a leadership pattern that I first encounted in martial arts: Form and Meaning. Although most explicitly described in the art of Xing-I, all the martial arts describe the contrast between the form of action, and its true meaning or essence. What I’ve noticed in great project leaders is that the contrast is similar. Namely there are those who go through the motions, and those who simply get it. Let’s go through the progression of this pattern and see if you recognize anything similar in your own experiences.

• No Form, No Meaning – This is the untrained pupil, the flailing fighter, the aimless leader. Effort is wasted and results are rare.
• Form, No Meaning – This is where training begins. Whether kicking drills or learning to listen to others attentively, all skills has to start with the fundamentals.
• Form, Meaning – Eventually, all that practice pays off. An athelete can generate results within the set drills and set plays. A leader is able to effect some kind of direction with the right procedures and processes.
• No Form, Meaning – Finally, we see the expert achieving true skill. Sure the set plays work, but when the athlete improvises, a genius play can be made. Likewise, a leader is now able to influence others with an instict born of experience. Sensing the needs of others and reacting accordingly.
• No Form, No Meaning – However, the final stage is to blend oneself with the whole situation. This is what is called the “state of no mind”. Not only are the old rigid formalities missing, but so is the intentional directed effort. Instead, a fighter simply prevents the conflict. A running back “feels” the tackler behind him, changes direction, but doesn’t quite know why. A leader embeds himself with his neighbors, avoids a gaudy vision statement, and still they collectively move in a direction that makes sense .

What’s even more interesting is that you can apply this pattern to almost any kind of growth. Whether through spirituality (going from Sunday School rituals to a less formalized journey) or elsewhere, there seems to be a similar progression.

Examine the things in life you consider to be your best skills, and see if you too went on a similar journey.