I heard rumors about it before I ever saw it.
“It’s the best.” “You’ve got to go.” “Seriously, you’ll be obsessed.”
There’s a tiny restaurant in town that sells fresh poke. Raw fish tossed with spring onions, chili, sesame oil, and a few secret ingredients—on a bed of sushi rice. On the side, a scoop of purple potato salad, avocado, and lomi lomi tomatoes with just the right amount of sea salt.
“Restaurant” is probably not accurate. There's no host, no waiters, no tables, no seating, no silverware, no printed menus.
You stand on the sidewalk. You walk up to the window. You order and pay.
On the other side of the window, one or two team members are waiting, ready to whip your poke bowl together within sixty seconds…and slide it to you through the glass partition with a cheery, “thank you,” “aloha,” "see you again soon."
Swift, efficient, tasty, nourishing. Transaction: complete.
They only make one thing—poke—and they do it better than anybody else. The freshest fish. The tastiest sauce. Consistently delightful, every time.
This business is open for exactly 5 hours per day. They close at 3 pm sharp, or, when they’re sold out. Whichever comes first.
During the pandemic, half of the small businesses in our downtown shopping district closed forever. It is tragic. A huge, painful loss for our community. A void. So many empty shops. Dark inside. Locked doors. “For rent” signs.
Yet, in spite of the immense challenges, this little poke shop kept on slinging. Sales not just steady, but booming.
Even during the bleakest pandemic times—when beaches were closed to the public, and residents were not permitted outside except for essential activities like exercise or getting food and medicine—this poke shop would always have clientele, lined up, waiting patiently on the sidewalk, six feet apart.
They've gotten so busy, rather than constricting, they’re expanding. Now, they sell their poke bowls at the original shop and at local grocery stores, too.
There's a lesson here, for all of us, regardless of your industry, profession, vocation—whether you sell raw fish, or legal services, or teach yoga, or your job is homeschooling a child.
Simple excellence.
Choose a path. Commit. Do less. Simplify. Choose something you wish to master and devote yourself to it.
As I map out my company’s business plan for 2022, our theme for the New Year is: simple excellence.
We are reducing our menu of services in half. We are honing in, even more strongly, on one particular message and promise to our clientele. We are not cluttering our schedule with unnecessarily-complicated projects that yield little results or joy. We will do less. And what we do, we will do with the greatest excellence that we can bring.
One of my favorite quotes from Angela Bassett, the legendary, award-winning performing artist:
“Don’t settle for average. Bring your best to the moment. Then, whether it fails or succeeds, at least you know you gave all you had. We need to live the best that’s in us.”
But we can't bring our best to each moment if we're trying to achieve too many things at once, mentally fatigued, or saying “yes” to projects that should really be shelved until 2025.
In order to live the best that’s within us, we need to simplify and do less.
Less is more.
And, as I've learned from each masterfully-crafted bite of fresh-caught ahi with shoyu...
Less is delicious.
-Alex
PS. If you were going to redesign your life, or work, with “simple excellence” as the guiding principle, what would this look like? Feel like?
PPS. A very smart woman named Jen Kem is the first person I ever heard say the phrase: "simple excellence." Thank you, Jen. Those two words have been ringing in my ears for many years like a clear and beautiful bell.
PPPS. Lately, I’ve been thinking about how excellence and perfection are not the same thing.
Excellence is attainable.
Excellence is trying with all your heart. It’s making promises and keeping them, doing exactly what you said you would do—99% of the time, with a few exceptions because life happens. It’s knowing your limitations and planning accordingly. It’s the slow and consistent journey of mastering your craft. It’s showing up to the meeting prepared, notes in hand, ready to roll. It’s treating people with decency
and appreciation. It’s bringing the best that you can to each moment—while accepting that there will be a few typos, broken links, and blunders along the way. Because we’re human.
Perfection is not attainable.
Perfection is strict, robotic, error-free in a way that’s not possible for living human beings made of flesh and bone. It’s an unrealistic standard that is painful to strive for and even more painful when (of course, as always) it goes unreached. It’s clawing desperately for something that does not even exist on this earth. It’s futile.
We can aim for excellence, not perfection. I think…there’s a difference.