NORTHERN PLANNER

There is a calm fury to a true craftsman. The restless perfectionist who's work is never done, it just that time has run out. 

I used to love John McEnroe, all waspy wayward genius and volcanic rage for perfection. But he couldn't control his passions – blowing up in his face as much as carrying him to even greater feats. 

Compare that to the steely grace of a Federer, or the relentless intensity of a Nadal. Not an ounce of energy wasted, eveything in service of the next shot being even more perfectly weighted and judged than the last. 

Or the solitary sculpter chipping away as his work slowly reveals itself. 

Talent is common, the years of practise and dedication in the pursuit of the the perfection that will never be reached, that is rare. And it doesn't come cheap. Even rarer is the ability to keep that unrelenting focus. To never stop trying until the job is done, in fact, never finishing it, just having to let it go. 

Planning is like sculpture. From the chaos of information, you're trying to cut out the rubbish, chipping away bit by but until you get something that looks usable. Then the real work begins. Edit, precis, distil, re-write, sometimes re-start, until you go from good to great and sometimes, even moderately happy with it.

It takes focus. The anwers don't just magically appear. It takes a calm fury. Hating obvious, rejecting easy. 

You can't get away from doing the work.