On Low Hanging Fruit, Tennis, and Scenic Roads

JM Fox
JM Fox
Sep 3, 2018 · 5 min read

“Above all, don’t lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love.”

― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

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“If your enemy is secure at all points, be prepared for him. If he is in superior strength, evade him. If your opponent is temperamental, seek to irritate him. Pretend to be weak, that he may grow arrogant. If he is taking his ease, give him no rest. If his forces are united, separate them. If sovereign and subject are in accord, put division between them. Attack him where he is unprepared, appear where you are not expected.”

― Sun Tzu, The Art of War

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“I loved you, so I drew these tides of men into my hands

And wrote my will across the sky in stars”

― T.E. Lawrence, Seven Pillars of Wisdom: A Triumph

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First, a personal anecdote. In my younger years, I was a competitive tennis player. I never loved it, but I was good at it, and that seemed preferable to being average at a sport that I did. Good enough to get college offers, but not good enough to let that influence my choice of schools. I’ve only picked up a racquet a handful of times since then, but I often think back to those days as a window into my greater behavioral patterns.

I was emotional and tempestuous. Thrown racquets. Smashed racquets. I fed off the energy of the spectators, just a few feet from the court. I loved the competition. Hitting a winner, silencing the crowd, and staring down my opponent’s team (or, ideally, his girlfriend) was euphoric. I felt the pain of losing exponentially more than the joys of winning. I barely remember victories, but I still feel certain losses.

I was also stubborn. If my opponent had a great forehand and a terrible backhand, I went straight at his forehand. Over and over and over again. I had to prove that not only was I better than him, but that I was better than his best. An ugly victory was a loss; the only victory was a total victory. Usually, this turned out fine. When it didn’t, it was an excuse that numbed the pain of losing. He wasn’t better than you, you just tried too much. Don’t worry, you’re still more talented.

I also played extraordinarily stupid shots at critical times. Down match point, conference championship, opponent at the net, and I’m scrambling off the court. Experts would say to just throw up a lob and survive to see another day. I, on the other hand, pulled out a one-handed backhand and attempted a ballsy crosscourt passing shot. It worked. Crowd goes nuts. I impressed people! Then I lost.

But, at least I had a built-in excuse. Sure, I lost, but he couldn’t do that.

I’m still more talented. Next time.

I’d love to wrap those things in admirable descriptors like “aggressive” or “gutsy.” In reality, it was mental gymnastics to win without winning. I was prepping the spectators to treat me as though I was the victor. If only he played like he does in practice — he’s much better than this. He has lots of potential, just look at some of these shots!

As long as I could preserve some idea of potential, was I really losing? To lose while doing everything right, now that was a real loss. Making things more difficult was an intricate plot to save face.

But, J.M., nobody cares about your junior tennis career. I know, I know. One more anecdote.

A few months ago, I set out to create an outlet for the voice inside my head. The first logical step seemed to be a Twitter account. After years of lurking, I’d participate in the conversations and start my own. I looked up ways to build a following. Pick a name that offers a preview of what you’ll talk about. DM large accounts and ask for a retweet. Tag influencers often. Discuss health, money, or women. Nail the aesthetics.

This all seemed fake and against the whole point, so I sputtered around and tossed my thoughts into the follower-less void. Should I just change my picture to a stock photo of a headless man in a well-tailored suit and change my name to @bankerplayboy? Ride the lowest common denominator wave to Twitter stardom? Seemed to work for many.

Should I just take the low hanging fruit sitting right in front of me? Am I pulling out the Twitter equivalent of a one-handed backhand to save face when I fail to get 50 followers?

The great strategists of history say to be like the stream, to go with the flow. Win without fighting. If the easy route is available, take it. Victory is the greatest good, therefore the most efficient path is the best. This, of course, I agree with. They were, however, discussing war, so the stakes were much higher. In our normal, day-to-day lives, the difficult path doesn’t get people killed. So, when should we opt for the more difficult path, and when should we snatch the low hanging fruit?

On a drive, there’s often a direct route and a scenic route. One gets faster results, while one gives more satisfaction. The right decision is based entirely on personal preference and external circumstances. Neither is superior to the other. Sometimes, though, there is an option for a bumpy, unpaved road that offers neither speed nor scenery. Too often, it looks like a scenic road when you start. But, it’s not. It offers nothing.

Similarly, what seem to be the scenic options in our lives are sometimes just bumpy roads in disguise. How often do we choose the more difficult option as a defense mechanism — a way to protect ourselves from failure or a way to quiet the voices in our head? I failed, but I tried the harder option! I’d have succeeded if I just did the simple option. It’s not my fault. I’ve certainly been guilty of this over and over again.

If the path is sufficiently difficult, you can never really fail, and you never have to face your innermost worries. Failure can be blamed on external factors. Failure will not be an indictment of your abilities. You can maintain superiority even in defeat. Failure is not a failure.

The low hanging fruit is advisable in most scenarios. Be efficient, do the deed, move on. The difficult path — the scenic route — is sometimes necessary, often noble, and can strengthen our sense of self. Avoid the bumpy road and its sirens telling you that you can fail without failing. Look inwards. Don’t lie to yourself.

Back then, I ignored the low hanging fruit to guarantee the avoidance of the worst case scenario. This time, however, I was ignoring it to stay closer to my values, and to build something I could be proud of. That has made all the difference. This path may take a bit longer, but the scenery is fantastic.

JM Fox

Written by

JM Fox

Investment banker, former military officer, and reluctant MBA. @fox_summit

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