Visiting a buddy the other day, we got to talking about how marketing is influencing kids today.

Even as recently as my childhood, everything was mass-market: growing up without television limited the amount of marketing I was exposed to in general, and what marketing I did encounter was pretty generic. Advertising Frosted Flakes to kids is like advertising beer or soda to adults: there’s an debate worth having about the ethics of selling unhealthy products, but eating Frosted Flakes in the 1990s was only going to make you a normal kid, not a member of a special tribe.

Now, that’s clearly not the case. With more and more kids online at younger and younger ages, they’re getting the same kind of targeted, tribal advertising that we adults have been learning to live with over the past couple of decades.

The options don’t seem attractive: limit your kids’ electronics, which feels like the end of the world? Limit their ability to purchase what’s being advertised to them, which makes the social angst of adolescence even more acute? Sigh and give up?

Or maybe start a conversation about what kind of society would run this sort of experiment on its children to make a short-term buck.

Sure, we’ve gotten “better” at advertising in the internet age. But Frosted Flakes might have been better for kids than what such cynical advertising is doing to them.

After all, most kids grow out of Frosted Flakes. How many people do you know who have grown out of Google, Apple, or social media?

A creative challenge for the day, or the week: be the person who makes decisions happen.

You don’t have to actually make all the decisions, nor should you. Instead, merely listen for the points in a conversation when the talk has veered topically off topic.

No, your options are many: frame the decision, create options, or — boldest yet — simply suggest it’s time for a decision.

Debate till the relevant points of view have been explored. Then decide to decide. After all, that was the whole reason for the conversation in the first place. Right?

The idea of “taking” a decision is one of those quirks of our common language that has always fascinated me in English usage.

In the United States, we “make” decisions, we don’t “take” them.

And it’s all well and good to make a decision — to come to the fork in the road and discern the way you wish to take.

But to actually take that road? That’s often a different matter entirely. How many times have we all made a decision to eat better, sleep better, work better, live better — only to find our best-laid plans unmade by circumstance?

To take the decision — to really choose a road and walk it — is a courageous act.

What decision, long since made, is it time for you to take?

Who are you trying to influence? When you write, speak, argue, debate, podcast — who and what is that for?

And who are you giving permission to influence you? The mass media? The algorithm-enhanced, confirmation-bias-reinforcing media? Whose writing, speaking, blogging, or podcasting is becoming one of the voices in your head?

The price of connection — the ability to influence and be influenced as never before — is the responsibility to be mindful about the messages we put out, and those we allow in.

Too good a quip not to record: a couple of weeks ago, I heard someone point out that our intentions are often in tension.

Can I be a human being while doing something to my utmost?

Can I be, as a sculling coach once memorably advised, “kind to myself, yet unrelenting?”

Can I be more generous without over-spending the resource of myself?

As long as we’re talking about setting intentions while still trying not to create more attachments, it’s clear that there are plenty of opportunities each day to practice non-dual thinking.

***

(The same weekend, a friend with a strong background in Buddhist practice said that one answer to every koan is, “Drink tea.” Let that steep for a few minutes.)

That emergency that’s demanding your attention: what’s the likelihood that solving it — if you can — will prevent future emergencies?

Life rarely gets less busy or frenetic, and almost certainly not if we’re not intentional about it.

Of course you want to make a difference. But running into burning building after burning building is exhausting, particularly if you can’t or won’t rest between rescues.

It’s hard to put more points on the board if you can’t keep yourself in the game. Are you just trying to gain an extra yard here, or are you trying to help your team keep putting points on the board from whistle to whistle?

How long should this piece of writing be?

As long as it needs to be.

Sometimes, that’s going to be pretty long. But most of the time it’s going to be shorter than you think.

What’s it for? What’s it really for?

Playing with an idea for pages and pages can be fun.

Making a connection (which is really about getting a response) can and probably should be quite short.

And teeing up a decision requires adequately addressing the context while also being spare and clear enough that a choice can actually be made.

(That’s the standard three examples right there … were they the best I could have picked? Would you like to see another, or do you already get the joke?)

Imagine a whole bunch of buccaneers who can form up and act with the disciplined unity of a navy yet with the individual initiative and flair of more stereotypical pirates.

That’s the holy grail of modern management in many ways.

Sailing in such a fleet is always an adventure: balancing personal initiative with centralized strategy is not an easy feat.

In naval lore, Admiral Nelson is the most commonly cited example of a naval commander who found ways to have the best of both worlds. The magic of the “Nelson Touch” was extremely high information sharing — usually around Nelson’s flag dining table — between actions, brilliantly simple planning, and unusual devolution of initiative during action.

Famously, Nelson ordered the signal “England expects that every man will do his duty” flown at his last and greatest battle. He didn’t hoist tactical instructions since he’d already invested plenty of time to ensure that every man knew his duty.

Try it out for a day: if you’re accustomed to sailing in line ahead, waiting for direction, try venturing out a bit to seek opportunity. And if you’re always flying the Jolly Roger, see what you can accomplish by forming up with some others.

There’s a line in every discussion. We’ve all felt it.

I don’t mean the line separating the OK from the not-OK, though that one matters too.

I mean the line between macro and micro; between on-topic and off-topic; between your one-off, hyperspecific edge case and the whole purpose of the discussion.

Some discussions are meant to stay above the line. Some are meant to stay below. And plenty naturally evolve from strategy to tactics.

But it really helps to be clear about where the line is and whether we’re supposed to be above or below it at any given moment.

If we’re trying to revise the kitchen policy to keep the office cleaner and happier for everyone, is your war story about the pile of oatmeal-encrusted bowls you found in the sink that Tuesday morning last month really on topic? Are you sure?

Though it certainly helps if the person leading the discussion is clear about the line from the outset, maintaining the line is an opportunity for leadership for everyone at the table. Keeping the line in mind can be a good discipline for your own contributions, as well as a non-personal way to help others stay on track.

Where’s the line? And where are you — and we — in relation to it?

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Hat-tip to Ray Dalio, who writes about this concept in Principles.

Are a special form of torture.

If it’s important, show us by planning and managing effectively to keep it short.

Don’t triple the meeting length so you can tell us how important it is — or, worse, because long meetings must be important ones.

You can co-create the agenda if that works; there’s no need to be a martinet. (Calling a meeting to hear yourself speak in front of other people is another form of cruel and all-too-usual punishment.)

Everyone deserves better. If you’re going to call a meeting, be ready to lead it.