I wrote three memos to you this week, but decided not to send the first two. The first one, We Are Sancho Panza, is the dancing safari into symbolic thought that I promised you in last week's memo. It begins, “Who can explain our four-century attraction to Don Quixote? The book is hard reading and dull, full of inconsistencies, and confusing. A little like the Bible. And yet Quixote is the second most widely-read book on earth; second only to… yes, the Bible.” Powerful and flexible symbolic thought includes all forms of metaphor, simile and corollary. Its function is to relate that which is not understood to that which is understood. Even as the Psalmist wrote in Psalm 42, “deep calleth unto deep…” symbolic language calls to the unconscious; deep waters to deeper still.

I decided not to send you We Are Sancho Panza because it might have been misconstrued as a spiritual ambush. Some might even have called it religious. It definitely travels beyond the boundaries I impose on these Monday Morning Memos, so don't click that link unless you really want to go there. You have been warned.

The second memo I wrote but chose not to send was some very specific advice about radio advertising called “How to Make a Fabulous :30 from the Average :60.” But I decided to save those seven simple steps to deliver at an event I'll be doing in Dallas in May as a gift to my friend, Eric Rhoads, in honor of his 50th birthday.

So having written two memos to you and deciding to send neither, I wandered over to Academy Hall to peep in at a guest lecture in progress. There, on our mammoth projection screen, it read: “What would you attempt if you knew you could not fail?” An interesting question, it immediately triggered a deeper one: “What would you attempt if you knew nothing you did would ever work out?”

The first question urges you to dream big. The second, to be truly committed.

What is worth doing even if you can't succeed? Is there a mountain worth climbing even if there's no hope of ever reaching the top? Think about it. Standing on the top of the mountain is a moment, supposedly the moment “that makes it worth it all.” Makes it worth all what? A lifetime of disconnection, alienation and misplaced priorities? The world's saddest person is that tragic has-been who speaks incessantly about his or her shining moment long ago. Do you really want to be the woman who “used to be” Miss America? Or the man who “used to play” professional sports?

No mountain climber ever stays long on the summit. But the brevity of these visits isn't because someone drove them off to take their place. They leave because there is nothing more to do. The movie is over. The credits are rolling. Holding an empty popcorn bucket and a soft-drink cup, they go looking for a trash can and a bathroom.

Susan Ertz once wrote, “Millions long for immortality who don't know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon.” Life, if you will, is that rainy Sunday afternoon. What are you going to do with it?

I'm talking about embracing a commitment to something far bigger than your own small and petty desires.

Commitment is not to be found in brave talk, bold resolution, or dramatic gesture. And she will not be measured quickly. Strong and silent, Commitment steps into the light only in those dark and quiet moments when it would be easier to creep, unseen, away.

How deep is your Commitment to what you're doing with your life? I ask only because I care.

And it's never too late to change.

Roy H. Williams