First Things First

by Stephen R. Covey

The clock represents our commitments, appointments, schedules, goals, activities—what we do with, and how we manage our time. The compass represents our vision, values, principles, mission, conscience, direction—what we feel is important and how we lead our lives.

When we pick up one end of the stick, we pick up the other.

The essence of kairos time is how much value you get out of it rather than how much chronos time you put into it. Our language reflects recognition of kairos time when we ask, “Did you have a good time?” We’re not asking about the amount of chronos time spent in a particular way, but about the value, the quality, of that time.

Management works within the paradigm. Leadership creates new paradigms. Management works within the system. Leadership works on the system.

Fundamental to putting first things first in our lives is leadership before management: “Am I doing the right things?” before “Am I doing things right?”

The significant problems we face cannot be solved by the same level of thinking that created them.

All of these are in Quadrant II. They’re important. So why aren’t people doing them? Why aren’t you doing the things you identified from the questions above? Probably because they’re not urgent. They aren’t pressing. They don’t act on you. You have to act on them.

Quality of life is inside-out. Meaning is in contribution, in living for something higher than self.

One of the best ways to strengthen our independent will is to make and keep promises. Each time we do, we make deposits in our Personal Integrity Account. This is a metaphor that describes the amount of trust we have in ourselves, in our ability to walk our talk. It’s important to start small. Make and keep a promise—even if it means you’re going to get up in the morning a little earlier and exercise. Even if it means you aren’t going to watch television tonight. Even if it means you’re going to subordinate taste to nutrition for a week.

Stephen: At one time, I counseled with a man whose life was totally broken. It was filled with sloppiness and flakiness. He would put in appearances from time to time like a flying fish that would shimmer into the sunlight, then plow back down into a life of procrastination and selfishness, buffeted by all the urgent things that were afflicting him. I began to encourage this man to tap into his unique human endowments and to start in very small ways. I said, “Will you get up in the morning when you say you’re planning to get up? Will you just get up in the morning?” He said, “How is that going to affect everything else?” I said, ‘‘Your body is the only instrument through which you operate in life. If you don’t get control of your body, how can you control the expressions that come through your body and your mind?” So he resolved each night to get up, but then a whole new mentality seemed to overcome him in the morning. He was an absolute slave—he worshipped the mattress. I tried again. “Will you just get up at a certain time for one month?” He said, “I really don’t know if I can.” “Then don’t commit to do it. Your integrity is at stake. As you’ve acknowledged, your life is totally fragmented. You have no internal peace of mind at all. So don’t make a promise and break it. Start smaller. Do you think you could do it for a week?” “Yes, I think I can do it for a week.” “Will you get up at the time you say you’re going to get up for one week?” “I will.” I saw him a week later....

But the passion of vision releases the power that connects “discipline” with its root word, “disciple.” We become followers of our inner imperatives, voluntarily subordinating the less important to that deep burning “yes!” Instead of “control,” we’re focused on “release.”

Set a daily “sharpen the saw” goal to visualize yourself living your mission statement.

If you’ve seen the movie The Karate Kid you may remember the scene at the ocean where the elderly Miyagi sends his young student Daniel out into the pounding surf. “Learn balance! Learn balance!” he calls. Time after time, as the boy struggles against the crashing waves, he’s knocked off his feet. Finally, he turns to see his mentor in the distance, poised atop a single post. From this position, Miyagi executes the intricate movements of the crane technique, demonstrating perfect balance as he easily shifts midair between one foot and the other. We may hear our own deep inner voice telling us, “Learn balance! Learn balance!” But for the most part, many of us feel like Daniel out in the pounding surf, getting knocked off our feet by powerful forces that seem to come at us from every direction.

As Gandhi observed, “One man cannot do right in one department of life whilst he is occupied in doing wrong in any other department. Life is one indivisible whole.”2

The essence of this more holistic paradigm of balance is captured in the words of the ancient Sufi teaching: “You think because you understand one you must understand two, because one and one makes two. But you must also understand and.”

I have no problem burning the midnight oil while driven by inspiration to capture some exciting new thought for this book. The real problem comes, however, when I—or any of us—go into unconscious overdrive, forgetting to shift back out of high gear after such a bout with adrenaline has served its purpose.