It’s the most famous portrait of the first president of the United States. You’d have never seen it if the artist waited for it to be finished.

Gilbert Stuart’s 1796 painting of George Washington went on to be used for the $1 bill. So, if you’ve ever held a buck, you’ve seen his work.

Stuart also painted portraits for five other presidents, two first ladies, a chief justice of the Supreme Court, and Napolean’s brother. Yet, this George Washington portrait is his most famous work. But we rarely see the full canvas.

That’s because Gilbert Stuart decided it was “good enough” as-is. Good enough for him to copy more than 100 times on other canvases. Good enough, eventually, to be on multiple postage stamps. Good enough for US currency!

Even though this was 221 years ago, Gilbert Stuart was doing what The Paradox of Choice calls satisficing. Once the portrait met Stuart’s criteria, he was done. In this case, it had to be good enough to use as a template for other paintings.

The key there is determining the criteria and being willing to settle for far less than perfection. The original iPhone wasn’t that great, but they released it anyway. They had a chance to make incremental–and over time, major–improvements.

You can do the same with whatever you’re working on. Whether it’s a side project (remember the side project lifecycle), an initiative at work, or you’re cleaning the house.

Be willing to keep some canvas empty. It doesn’t have to be permanent.

Recently I picked up a book I first read in fifth grade. It was a book I really didn’t have any business reading when I was ten years old, but I remember liking Robert Fulghum’s humor in All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten and its sequels. It also probably helps that each story is short (less than five pages in my small paperback version). I may appreciate that even more as an adult.

The book was first published in 1986, and its stories reference much earlier times, all well before technology and the Internet became ubiquitous. I’m not sure which are the simpler times. In the book’s first story, I found myself reminiscing about how information used to be gathered:

Spiders. Amazing creatures. Been around maybe 350 million years, so they
can cope with about anything.

At some point in the writing process, someone had to source that arachni-fact. Maybe it was within the “S” volume of their encyclopedia set, or a thick book of trivia. Otherwise, it would require a trip to the library and a search for the right reference book.

As I quickly type this post into my cloud-hosted blog software, I opened a new tab and got a similar answer in seconds. I didn’t even write out my complete question, because Google suggested this search based on many other curious humans.

We already know that many things have changed because of the Internet. Reading Fulghum’s “uncommon thoughts on common things” from over 30 years ago sent me thinking about the other efforts required for him to publish his book:

• He may have written longhand on yellow legal pads, or typed on a manual typewriter. Once he saw success, perhaps he bought an early and expensive “personal computer.”
• Drafts were likely typed and mailed to the publisher. By the early 90s, maybe he faxed edits.
• He was discovered when a printed copy of his story was sent home with school children, one of whom had a literary agent parent.

Today, he’d likely write directly into a relatively inexpensive laptop, perhaps using writing software within a web browser. Feedback and edits could all happen within the same document, which could then be exported for publication.

Or maybe he’d just have a blog, which, of course, he does.

In baseball, first base is different from second and third. You can touch first, run past it, and still be safe. This rule means that once you hit the ball, your only objective is to run as fast as you can all the way through first base.

Paul L Dineen

If your hit went right to an infielder, it’s tempting to give up and jog. Even if you’re certain you’re safe, it’s natural to slow down as you approach your destination. But that means running to, not running through.

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░ 92%

— Year Progress (@year_progress) December 2, 2017

It seems like the year is almost over, but as my friend Heitor tweeted, there is 8% of the year left. If 2017 is the 90 feet between home and first, there are more than seven feet remaining.

I’m going to run through December 31.

Constraints can make you more creative. When constrained, you consider different possibilities and end up with more and better output. I’ve shared time boxing techniques before, but time is only one kind of constraint. Those in creative industries know this well. Visual artists might choose a restrictive medium. Actors often gather for improvisation, with no storyline determined until it’s selected at random. They narrow their focus, subtracting enough of the possibilities

Austin Kleon writes that all creativity is subtraction in his book Steal Like an Artist:

“Don’t make excuses for not working—make things with the time, space, and materials you have, right now. The right constraints can lead to your very best work. My favorite example? Dr. Seuss wrote The Cat in the Hat with only 236 different words, so his editor bet him he couldn’t write a book with only 50 words. Dr. Seuss came back and won the bet with Green Eggs and Ham, one of the bestselling children’s books of all time.”

Kleon has used subtraction—literally—in his own art. He wrote a book and maintains a website with poetry based on newspapers redacted, much like the image above. Using a black Sharpie, he subtracts the words he doesn’t want, uncovering a poem that was always there, unseen.

Similarly, the Laws of Simplicity boil down to subtraction. What can you take away from your work and still have it feel complete? What can you take away from your process that inspires entirely new types of work?

I’m a fan of time-boxing techniques for creating constraints that encourage me to get things done. The POWER HOUR, for example, has been in my arsenal since 2005, though I don’t use it every day. That’s great for personal productivity, but what about when it comes to motivating toward the same end?

Jason Freedman shared the 100 day goals that have kept his company moving without burning out the team:

“Setting deadlines first and then choosing ambitious goals is the key.  The deadline becomes a forcing function that wipes away distractions.  There’s simply no time for extraneous features.  Failed experiments end much earlier.  Hacked together solutions get tested much faster because there’s no time to build the scalable version.”

Now I’m going to try something similar, but with my growing developer relations team at Orchestrate. This week we’ll be on an all-company retreat, where among the outcomes I want is a plan for the next 100 days. Using Freedman’s approach the deadline comes first. Whatever the developer relations team will accomplish during this timeframe will happen by September 9.

Determining what fits into those 100 days is the hard part. And we’ll be using some of those precious days to figure it out, likely walking back and forth on the two simplicity paths until we find the right balance.

As Freedman suggests: be ambitious, but do away with wouldn’t-it-be-cool-ifs. Then we’ll start again.

What are your 100 day goals?