As a child, when lamenting the privileges and acquisitions of others, my mother would frequently admonish: "If everyone jumped off a bridge, would you?" Many of us have heard this old bromide or something similar, and while quaint, this simple advice might have prevented everything from enviously eyeing the Jones' new Mercedes to the current subprime mortgage mess.
 
On the latter, a tornado of blame has been circulating, with fingers pointing at Wall Street, credit rating agencies, governments and global corporations of all stripes. To some extent, we are all culpable. In the US, "cheap money" abounded, and anyone with a heartbeat and ability to sign their name could acquire a mortgage they could not afford. From the first time homebuyer to the rich that overextended themselves, banks promoted financially unsound products and consumers blissfully signed their lives away without a second thought. Both parties walked over my mother's proverbial bridge, hand in hand.
 
Ratings agencies and banks created unfathomable financial instruments that piled leverage atop leverage, multiplying the effects of bad debt and turning a blind eye to risk as the money rolled in. On a fundamental level, it did not take a financial genius to see through the charade. Mortgages at the edge of affordability with floating rates, and financial products that packaged and repackaged those debits appeared as a house of cards even without an understanding of derivatives and the financial machinations that created them.
 
The simple lesson from this costly trip over the proverbial bridge is to not always follow the pack. From the subprime mess to companies that blindly adopt the latest management "gospel," the economy is ripe with followers. Sometimes they are led in the right direction, and other times bound gleefully over the precipice. Your mother (and your shareholders) will thank you for thinking twice before following the pack. 

In work and in life, sometimes the best deal simply isn't. The lowest cost provider might be a charlatan or incompetent, and the cheapest product often ends up in the dustbin when it proves inadequate and a replacement must be purchased. While it would be imprudent to buy the top-of-the-line for every purchase, it is equally foolish to squander away time and create additional hassle in the name of a pittance saved.
 
Consider the impacts on your time, or the cost of doing something twice should a low end product or service provider not come through. Sometimes, the cost increase serves as relatively inexpensive insurance. 

I have tended to scoff at the idea of book clubs. Considering them marketing vehicles for banal talk show hosts, or refuges for closet academics, I did my reading in peace without feeling the need for membership in any kind of club. However this year I have managed to land myself in two such clubs. With the magic of the internet and free teleconferencing services these clubs select various works, have spirited discussion around them and ponder how their wisdom might apply to life and business, all without sitting in someone's living room awkwardly staring at the carpet.
 
I belong to one club that considers only business books, and debates the works of Peter Drucker and other management luminaries, and makes for surprisingly interesting discussions. The other has a discussion leader who picks a non-fiction work, generally a classic, and discusses it on an internet forum. Both push me to read works I otherwise might ignore, and have exposed me to new ideas, new words and entirely new worlds.
 
If harried travels and a mental image of old ladies eating crumpets and politely discussing romance novels have been causing you to avoid a book club, consider finding a group of likeminded individuals and creating a virtual club. 

During the past year I have significantly reduced the amount of travel I do for business, prior to that however, I was on the road nearly every weekday. While it seems glamorous to the uninitiated, like anything done in excess the travel became monotonous to the point that the days run together, the most significant being Mondays when a blaring alarm meant it was time to make my way to the airport, and Friday when the hours to my departure for home grew increasingly near.
 
The low point of this monotony came when I was working for a client in Chicago. Driving to the client site one morning with a colleague, I commented on how excited I was to be going home the next day, Friday. He mentioned that it was only Wednesday, and as neither of us had a watch that indicated the day of the week, some debate ensued. He finally asked how many fresh shirts were in my suitcase that morning. Thinking back and remembering two, I resigned myself to the fact that, with my dry cleaning as a witness, it was indeed only Wednesday.