Fast Isn’t the Point

The Smarter Player

In college, I belonged to the BQE Racquet Club in Queens — a 24-hour gym with racquetball courts. On Saturdays they designated a couple of courts as challenge courts. You waited your turn to play the winner of the previous match.

I played there a lot. But there’s one game I still remember.

My opponent looked old — at least to me at twenty. Maybe mid-thirties, maybe forty. I was in great shape and figured I’d clean the court with him.

He destroyed me.

Not because he was faster or stronger, but because he played smarter.

Every shot had a purpose. Never chased a shot he didn’t need. He was always where he needed to be — never a step more. Every movement was minimal, almost economical. When I hit a good one, he’d smile and say, “Nice one,” and let it go. I went after everything. By the end, I left soaked and gasping.. He was barely sweating.

He wasn’t better conditioned. He was better calibrated. 

He played a different game than I did.

The Myth of Speed

Speed comforts us because it feels like control.

In uncertainty, we default to velocity: more messages, more meetings, more experiments, more dashboards. We confuse motion with momentum. “Real time” becomes the operation system - the belief that faster equals smarter. 

We act as if doing more can compensate for lack of clarity. 

That’s what we call real time — the illusion that faster means smarter. We react so quickly that we stop thinking clearly enough to know whether the thing we’re reacting to even matters.

In Cognitive Load Is Real, I wrote about how we overload ourselves with decisions. This is the same problem, only louder. The faster we move, the less we think — and the harder it is to tell if we’re actually getting anywhere.

That’s the danger of “real time.” Speed becomes insurance for our uncertainty.
When we don’t know what works, we try to do everything.

The Maturity Curve

Early in our careers, speed signals ambition. You don’t yet know which opportunities matter, so you run after all of them.

Over time, pattern recognition replaces adrenaline. You learn which initiatives actually move the business, and which simply move your calendar. 

This is the moment leaders begin shifting from more output to better leverage. You stop treating every ball like it deserves a chase. The challenge shifts from doing everything to deciding what’s worth doing.

That’s what I meant in Your Swim Lane Is a Signal, Not a Constraint. Knowing where you can actually make an impact — and where you’re just burning energy — is a sign of maturity.

It also echoes a point I made in The Second Curve of Expertise — that growth isn’t about adding more, but about letting go of what no longer moves you forward.

The older player on that court had already learned that. He wasn’t lazy or slower. He was selective.

And once you know what’s worth doing, the next question becomes when to do it.

Rhythm over Real-Time

A good decision at the wrong moment still creates friction. A decision made out of timing - has outsized impact. Leaders who master rhythm know when to push, when to pause, and when to walk away. 

“Real time” isn’t wrong; it’s just incomplete. The goal isn’t to move  faster - it’s to move  in rhythm with context — to act when the moment actually calls for it.

The tells show up quickly: 

• a calendar packed with obligations, not objectives. 

• A day filled with activities but untethered to outcomes

• A to-do list where suddenly everything is a “top priority.” 

When everything feels important, nothing moves.

When you find your rhythm, noise loses its authority.
You stop confusing “loud” with “valuable”.  
You finally see what deserves your energy — and what doesn’t.

Berkson’s Bits

What could you learn if you sat down with your toughest critics — your mind open and your mouth shut? 

Leadership is built on uncomfortable questions, not comforting answers.

Start with the people who disagree with you most.

What Am I Watching…

It's no secret I'm a big fan of Tiny Desk Concerts. Here's a throwback to 2017 that made me smile this week: Tank and The Bangas.

The Long Game

The guy on the court wasn’t slow. He just understood the game better than I did.

That’s one of the quiet gifts of experience. It doesn’t make you faster — you get sharper. You start to see the difference between:

• What you can do 

• What you should do

• And what you’ll regret doing later.  

You start to recognize the shots that matter and the ones you can let go.

And this is where speed gets tricky.

In the moment, “fast” feels productive. You answer the email, join the meeting, return the call, slot the task into an already-packed calendar. You feel responsive. Useful. Necessary. But half the time you’re not operating from clarity — you’re overwhelmed, and the result is wasted motion.

Real speed is in the decisions you make :

• The meeting you decline

• The initiative you sunset

• The idea you don’t chase 

• The ball you drop so you can win the point that actually counts. 

When my calendar fills with “top priorities", it’s usually a sign I’m operating from overwhelm, not insight.  That’s not speed — that’s noise. 

The long game demands subtraction. 

Fast isn’t frantic. Fast is focused. 

Fast isn’t doing more. Fast is the consequence. 

Fast is clarity.

That man on the court had it. He was playing the match,not the moment. 

That’s the work now – for me, and for every operator trying to grow responsibly: zoom out, find the match that matters, and play that game. 

If this week feels like a blur of “top priorities,” ask yourself: What’s the match you’re actually trying to win?

Looking forward to continuing the conversation...

Alan