The-Slight-Edge

invest in Yourself 147
rocket’s gyroscope shows one reading, while the rocket’s instruments show that
it’s actually headed in a slightly different direction. The gyroscope, remember, is
always pointed in the right direction, the direction the ship actually wants to go.
The computer processor detects that the rocket’s off course and tells it to
make an adjustment. If the processor and the rocket were speaking English, the
conversation might sound something like this:
Processor: “Rocket, you’re 1.27 degrees north—bring it back to 1.29.”
Rocket: “Okay ... done.”
Processor: “Good ... Whoa, that’s too much, now you’re 1.30—
move it 0.01 degrees south.”
Rocket: “No problem, I’ll do that, too.”
Processor: “Great—no, wait, too far west. Adjust course 0.067 degrees.”
Rocket: “Got it, consider it done.”
Processor: “Whoops, too much, come back 0.012.”
Rocket: “Right, 0.012 ... how’s that?”
Processor: “Little too far north again, ease back to 1.27 ... ”
And so it goes, from here to the moon, a constantly occurring series of
adjustments turning what is predominantly a string of failures into ultimate success.
You have a gyroscope, too, and it works in much the same way, if you allow it to.
Your gyroscope is your vision of where you’re going—in other words, your dream.
Your processor is the Slight Edge: a consistent series of tiny, seemingly insignificant
actions, easy to do and easy not to do, and in this case, doing them leads you directly
to the moon instead of shooting off into the vacuum of outer space.
You’re hungry. There’s a bunch of greasy junk food in a vending machine
beckoning you. Your gyroscope is spinning—it’s focused on your health. Your
processor goes, click ... click ... whirr ... and you choose a salad or a piece of
fruit instead.
There’s a display rack of books and magazines. You reach toward the copy
of People because it has a juicy piece of gossip you’d just love to read—about a
movie star you can’t stand but it looks really intriguing anyway—and it’s only
a few bucks and you’ve got some time over lunch, and—Click ... whirrr ... click
... and instead you decide to go back to your car for your copy of Smart Women
Finish Rich. Or to take a twenty-minute walk in the park.
You’re having coffee with friends and they start complaining about their
work, their bosses, their jobs ... Click ... click ... whirrr ... and you find a way to
change the subject because you know that if the talk doesn’t get onto a positive
track within another sixty seconds, you’ll find a reason to excuse yourself.
Click ... click ... whirrr ...