There's a passage in The Dhammapada, which is a collection of sayings of the Buddha in verse form, which has this to say:

If you see someone wise, who can steer you away from the wrong path, follow that person, as you would one who can reveal hidden treasures. Only good can come out of it. Let them admonish, or instruct, or restrain you from what is wrong.

— The Dhammapada, Verse 76

Most ancient wisdom texts have a similar exhortation to find a wise person and follow their advice. If you listen to their words carefully, you'll avoid horrible mistakes and the associated pain and discomfort that these mistakes will cause in your life. We all need a mentor, guide, or guru from time to time.

Unfortunately, I may not be that wise person you're looking for. I'd say I'm more like a person who has taken his bumps and bruises while searching for such a wise individual myself. So I'm more like the person in the words to a favorite song of mine:

No, I don't claim to be a wise man, a poet or a saint. I'm just another man who's searching for a better way.

— Jon Bon Jovi, “Bang a Drum”

I figured it just might be helpful, however, to capture and convey the types of mistakes I've made, and seen others make, many times over the course of my data working career. I've worked with data in manufacturing and transactional environments, on the shop floor, in the boardroom, and in newsrooms all over the country, and I've trained and taught people how to work with data in corporate conference rooms, virtual chat rooms, and in the halls of academia, from coast to coast.

But who, exactly, am I trying to help with this book? Well, me, for one. Every time I write a blog post, record a tutorial, or craft a presentation, I find myself going back to these materials over and over. Whenever I do, I stop and wonder how the past version of myself was so much smarter than the current version of me, and I tip my hat for the favor.

And I hope it will be helpful for you. If you're starting out in your data journey, you'll come across many of these pitfalls, I promise you. My hope is that you'll be more likely to recognize them for what they are when you see them – sometimes from the top and other times from the bottom.

And if you've been working with data for some time, you'll read a section here or there, and you'll nod knowingly, glancing down at a scar or two that you earned by falling headfirst into the pit with me. And your brow may furrow when you read about other pitfalls, a sinking feeling coming over you that you may have made that mistake without recognizing it. If so, know that I feel your pain.

It's really important, though, that we learn to pick ourselves up and dust off our jeans, clean off those scuff marks, ice any bruises we may have suffered, and carry on, a bit wiser for the experience.

Equal in importance is that we show others the same grace. It's just too easy to get it wrong, and it's bound to happen. Even experts fall into data pitfalls on a fairly regular basis. Just like a well-worn path that marks the best route across a terrain, the more we admit and talk about our shortcomings, the less likely others are to fall into the same trap we fell into. We'll be leaving warning signs for them.

You and I may have to swallow our pride when we raise our hand and share the mea culpa, but we can think of it as a gift for future generations. They may shake their heads and wonder how we messed up so badly, but you and I will know that the only reason they've evolved as far as they have is that we paved the way for them with our blunders.

What's more important than the protection of my ego or yours is the evolution of our species into an efficient and effective data working force for the planet. We're not there, yet. Not even close.

I'd like to dedicate this book to my father, Richard Jones. My father had a truly wonderful mind, and, like the rest of us, he fell into many pitfalls in his life. When I confronted him about some things he had done that were particularly hurtful to me, he admitted it, and he apologized. I'll never forget that gift he gave me. It was very liberating.

I've been much better at admitting my own failures ever since – personal and professional. Thank you, Dad. I love you.

I signed the contract to write this book right before his health took a turn for the worse. He passed away of glioblastoma half a year later, and I lost all sight of the reason for wanting to write this book in the first place. My editors and the team at John Wiley & Sons were very gracious to me during this process. It took a while – four years to be exact – but eventually I rediscovered my passion for this topic and finished the book.

On the positive side, all that extra time meant that I was able to discover even more pitfalls to add to these chapters, mostly by falling into them.

So I hope this book proves to be helpful for you. May you stride forward onto the road paved with data, alert to pitfalls around every turn. May you show yourself compassion whenever you get it wrong, and may you share the lessons of mistakes made with others around you. Ultimately, may you reach great heights on the pathway, uncovering new treasures, solving pressing problems, and unlocking growth you never thought you'd find.

And if you bump into a truly wise data guru, will you give me their number? I'd appreciate it – I have a lot more to learn from them.