It’s instinctual to “manage to the test.” The metrics we value are the guardrails of our intentions, actions, and values. We all have an internal Fitbit/Apple Watch, trying to hit certain metrics in different areas of life. Your metrics, and the numbers that loom large for you, say a lot about who you are. The metrics that are never far for me—good, bad, and ugly:
Net worth. I think about money a lot. I realize how awful that sounds. When I didn’t have much of it, I didn’t track it. And even now, when I know my portfolio has been beaten up, I don’t check my brokerage accounts for a few days, as I don’t want to get bummed out and I know that (most of the time) they’ll recover. Like most things in life, your gains and losses in the market are never as good or bad as they seem. I’d much rather work in private equity or venture capital than for a hedge fund, as having a scorecard every day is just plain stressful.
Wealthy people claim they don’t think much about money. That’s bullshit—they are obsessed with money. The notion that rich people don’t think about money is an attempt to dampen resentment (e.g., revolution) from the 3.5 billion people who have fewer assets than the wealthiest twelve individuals. What, like, rich people got there because they are just so benign and talented, it just happened (“oops, I’m rich”)? As I’ve said before, people who tell you to follow your passion are already rich. They have doggedly pursued a path and have been obsessed with success for a long time. They want to sound inspirational and give you a sound bite, because the truth that success requires sixty- to eighty-hour weeks for several decades doesn’t get applause in graduation speeches.
Every wealthy person I’ve known measures their net worth in frightening detail, and measures it often. You have to stay nimble, or you stand to lose a lot. We live in a capitalist society, and the amount of money you have is a forward-looking indicator of the effectiveness of your healthcare, the comfort of your home, the harmony of your relationships, and the quality of your children’s education.
580. In my late twenties, I had trouble getting a mortgage for my first home out of college, as my credit score was 580. It wasn’t that I didn’t make money, but I was too irresponsible/immature/stupid to pay my bills on time. I’ve always felt I have a big “580” sign above my head.
120K and 350K. My Twitter following and the average number of views my YouTube series Winners & Losers used to get each week, respectively. (We pulled the plug on W&L at the end of 2018.) I’m not addicted to social media, and I don’t enjoy it that much, but I’m addicted to feedback and affirmation. I read the comments and check the likes and retweets a couple of times a day. It’s like a dopamine drip in my pocket.
2x/year. My father is dying. Nothing imminent, but he’s eighty-eight, which, generally speaking, means the end is nearer than farther. The last five years I’ve seen him (at most) twice a year. I wallpaper over this in my mind, as I actively make his life more comfortable and I call him every Sunday. However, any honest appraisal yields a coarse truth … I’m not the son I want to be.
400. For the past fifteen years, I have taught, on average, four hundred students a year. I like the kids; they (mostly) like me and feel as if I am adding value. A bunch reach out to me on a regular basis and express gratitude and admiration, which makes me feel relevant.
3, 4, and 2. I’ve started nine companies: three were wins, four were failures, and two were somewhere in between. I don’t believe any culture or country, other than the United States, would have given me this many chances.
Benchmarks, metrics, and milestones range from the meaningless to the profound. Accountability and insight are the by-products of math. Numbers yield insights about markets, how value is created, and how we want to live our lives. A review of the metrics in your life is a healthy exercise. In sum, I need to visit my dad.