In the first half of your day, you intentionally develop your two greatest breakthrough resources—yourself and your team. Just finding breakthrough confidence in your elite strengths and building breakthrough cooperative relationships with your complementary teammates will take you further than most people can even imagine.

But you aren't most people, you are BIOnic—a Breakthrough Impact Optimization expert!

In Q3, you will channel your developing strengths and resources in order to answer the where: where are you needed? You pivot away from focusing inward so you can be of greater service to the world. You still have the opportunity to test and exponentially improve yourself and your team, but now you'll gain insight into issues that your breakthrough can solve. You'll sharpen your vision of how your breakthroughs can impact the world—and where the world needs that impact.

Vision is the Q3 sense, and the one we value most as a society. We talk and think about sight more than any other sense, and we highly value the information we see. Even the language we use around sight is elevated—we are perceptive, keen‐eyed visionaries with colorful ideas who reflect, and see clearly with foresight. Seeing is believing! Avoid tunnel vision at all costs. No one operates well with blinders on. What we see is what we know.

It's true that what we see is the majority of what we know. Our eyes can process over 36,000 pieces of information each hour, and our eye muscles are the fastest in our bodies. Our eyes are the second most complex organs we have.

But we also have some blind spots—literally. We never see objects themselves; we only see how light reflects off of them. We take in the information contained in those reflections, flip it upside down, read it, and then flip it right side up again so we can understand it. There aren't any light‐sensitive cells where our optic nerves connect to our retinas though, so the pictures we're taking of the world are always incomplete. Our brains help us out by filling in information from how things “should” be—based on the previous knowledge we have, the different perspectives we've gotten, and our ideas of what we can expect. But we never actually have a clear picture, and those blind spots frequently work against us. Inattentional blindness (an inability to perceive an unexpected object in our field of vision) and change blindness (failing to see when an object has obviously changed or moved in an unexpected way) are more than just dangerous on the road—they're dangerous to our breakthroughs! If we don't put real effort into getting multiple perspectives of the world, coming up with more snapshots to fill in our missing data and correcting our ideas of how things “should” be, we risk having breakthroughs that can't make the impact we want them to—or even worse, make the wrong impact altogether.

Switching your lens to breakthrough service in Q3 means more than just doing nice or selfless things for others. It is a commitment to understanding the needs of the world from different perspectives, to putting yourself in others’ shoes as you help them. Service doesn't always show up in the stats sheet, but it's what leaves a legacy.

The biggest breakthroughs are recorded in history books and passed down through future generations. All of the “greats,” from George Washington to Martin Luther King Jr. to Harriet Tubman, have their deeds recorded, but these achievements, these breakthroughs that we talk about—they're just shorthand. They're just the only way we can truly talk about incredible people doing impossible things. And without fail, they achieve these breakthrough by‐products by genuinely pouring themselves into others.

Service is the lasting legacy of the truly groundbreaking and truly great. Every hero throughout history has changed the game in service to others. Finding answers for “where are you needed?” is absolutely essential—you'll not only hit your “hows” time and time again, but you'll create something impactful with your breakthroughs.

Service is about sharing the best parts of you with everyone around you, about helping them tap into the skills they didn't even know that they had, and about identifying roadblocks and opportunities for them. It is the breakthrough confidence you earn and exude by making the world an incredible place with every single one of your actions and then offering more. It's about seeing where your strengths are needed. It's about committing yourself, your leadership, your team, and your future to making others stronger and better.

Yes, you'll be gifting the world—but these aren't the easy, polite, impersonal gifts you may be used to giving. Breakthrough service often feels great, but there will be acts of breakthrough service that are difficult, challenging, and feel counterproductive. No matter what, you'll be gaining an incredible amount of information from the world to inform your own breakthroughs.

WHERE IS THE CHALLENGE?

Who doesn't love to be liked?!

Sure, some people seem to get a huge kick out of being feared—bosses who make their employees dance for their approval, drill sergeant personalities who bark orders, strict parents who withhold affection until everything is done just right. I'm sure you've even run into people who seem to actively court being disliked—drivers who go out of their way to cut you off in traffic, waiters who unpleasantly rush you out the door, the guy who always throws sharp elbows in pickup basketball games. But I have to imagine that even those people love to be liked by someone.

Most of us don't start our days committed to making people dislike us. A lot of us actually bend over backwards to be liked! We want to be buddies with everyone—our co‐workers, our team, our kids. We're nice to strangers, acquaintances, and our nearest and dearest alike. I think most people who've met me would say I'm a nice person!

Sorry to break it to you, I'm not.

I'm kind. I'm a kind person who tries to be nice whenever possible—but when the kind thing and the nice thing are different, I'm going to choose to do the kind thing.

Breakthrough service is recognizing that kindness is more important than niceness. You serve people best by helping them grow, and they grow most by being challenged. Loving people unconditionally doesn't mean giving them unconditional approval—it means challenging and supporting them. They might not like you for it, but that's okay. It's not about how you feel—it's about what you can give. Breakthrough service might require you to give up being liked! Concentrate your acts of breakthrough service on helping others see themselves better, not on how they see you.

***

To the birds roosting in the sky‐high rafters, the scene on the court must have looked like a ripple of happiness. The outermost edge of the ring was composed of the adoring fans—my classmates, my family, and my entire community had come out to watch the Iowa high school varsity championship game. Regardless of the final tally, the athletes on both teams had conducted themselves with honor through a season of fierce competition, and win or lose, they would return home with even more love for the game. As the final buzzer pierced the air, the tightest circle formed in the very middle of the court; my teammates, the Fighting Dutchmen, spent the last ounce of the adrenaline that had carried us through our title win in sheer jubilation.

There was just one disturbance in the celebration ripple, one dark spot of brittle energy that wasn't swept up. As a freshman, I should have been the most honored to share in this championship victory. But I didn't feel like a part of the team. I felt like a punching bag. I yearned to be told how good I was, but my coaches and teammates had thrown me into the fire, hoping to forge me into the player they thought I could be. After a season of constant criticism, I just felt fragile.

A few months after that game, my family moved from Pella, Iowa, to Kearney, Missouri. From one Midwest town to another, I wasn't expecting a huge culture shock, but Kearney was a whole different world for me. I was only a sophomore, but I was crowned as the go‐to guy from the moment I rolled onto the court. Suddenly, I was coddled—the coach's favorite player. I jumped into my new role as the spoiled prince with a vigor that I had never shown in Pella, lording it over my teammates on the court and my fellow students in the classroom. I sat behind the desk of the history teacher (my basketball coach) with one eye on the sports page of the newspaper and one eye on my studying classmates, delighting in their envy of my elevated position.

Nothing about my game had changed between Pella and Kearney, and I had zero motivation to make any improvements. I was a huge talent in this particular pond. What more could I need?

I finished my star season at Kearney and rode into the summer AAU league in Kansas City on a cloud of best‐player buzz. In the gym at Central High School for the first time, I graced my soon‐to‐be AAU teammates with a game of two‐on‐two. Sure, I threw lazy passes. No, I didn't hustle back on defense. If the past year had taught me anything, it was that my good enough was certainly good enough.

But instead of getting love from Coach Isaac Chew, I got a mouthful. Chew ripped into me: “What the hell are you doing, David? Who do you think you are? You say you want to play D1? Well, you sure as hell ain't D‐anything playing like that.”

Doesn't he know? I'm one of the top players in Kansas City. He can't talk to me like that!

Coach Chew burst the bubble Kearney had spent a year building around me, and I felt the Pella flames creeping up on me all over again. I couldn't go back to being berated every day. I couldn't go back to the constant criticism. If my dream really required being torn apart, bit by bit, every moment, did I even want it? Would there be enough left of me at the end to appreciate it? I spent the rest of the practice in the VIP room of my one‐man pity party.

When Coach Chew pulled me into his office after practice and sat me down, I braced myself for the wrath and prepared to hop out of the fire. I'd go back to Kearney. I'd dump my D1 dreams. I'd be the hometown hero through high school, and just try to live in that bubble of praise for as long as possible. If a breakthrough into bigger leagues required the searing clarity of constant criticism, that just wasn't for me.

I watched Chew open his mouth and expected a flamethrower; what I got were words of uplifting love: “David, you are going to be a great player. You really are. And I think the sky's the limit for you. Not only that, but you are going to be a great leader. If I let you off the hook for being less than you are capable of, I'm doing you a disservice. I'm going to challenge you, and it's going to help you grow. But know it is all out of love.”

I was completely stunned. The ways the Pella coaches challenged me had made me a better player, but the price was hating myself. The way the Kearney coaches coddled me made me love myself more, but the price was it downgraded the way I played the game. In a single day, this Kansas City coach had given me clarity into the blueprint for my breakthrough—not just for my basketball career, but for my entire life. He became my first model for the key breakthrough service lens: challenge and support. Constant praise and constant criticism each make us fragile in different ways—but they both make us fragile. True breakthrough leadership is building up strength in others by applying both as they are needed.

Isaac Chew called me after every high school game to challenge me on what I could do to improve my game, my teammates, and my overall character. He supported me when each of the three colleges I was hoping to play for informed me on the same exact day that they were going with the other guy instead. He challenged me as the captain of the Western Illinois Leathernecks. Even today, he is there with clarity and vision to serve my breakthroughs as a speaker, challenging and supporting me as each situation calls for. I don't know what I did to deserve the breakthrough service of Isaac Chew in my life, but I wouldn't be where I am without him.

I challenge myself to provide the same breakthrough service to others that Isaac Chew provides to me: love 'em to the core with support, and challenge 'em to the max. If you only support, you become a yes‐man. If you only challenge, you become a drill sergeant—and eventually people just tune you out. The growth combo of the right amount of challenge and the right amount of support isn't an exact formula or recipe. It's more difficult, it's always changing, it requires more attention. It requires true service.

Humans struggle to provide this breakthrough service, but it's instinctive to many other animals. The elegant, graceful giraffe is my wife's favorite animal, and while I've had many opportunities to admire their dappled coats and elongated necks, I never truly understood her appreciation for them until I saw their parenting techniques.

When a baby giraffe is born, the mother kicks the baby to the ground. And when the baby gets back up, she makes sure it goes down again. And again. And again.

Sounds brutal, right?

The mother giraffe is protecting the baby from lions. She's teaching it how to get back up quickly on its own because if she didn't, the baby would unquestionably become a gourmet lunch for Simba and his tribe.

Coddling people feels good. It feels loving. They feel safe and secure and cared for, and you get to bask in the glow. But when you truly care about serving others, about helping them grow, and about helping them achieve breakthroughs by learning more about the world, there will be more situations that call for challenge and support. Driving the best out of others by pushing them slightly outside of their comfort zone might not make you the instant favorite, but if you're also there to pick them up when they're defeated, they're much safer, stronger, and more secure. Part of the breakthrough service is knowing you have to create superheroes all around you, rather than building yourself up to be everyone else's savior.

As a reformed “wants everyone to like me” person myself, I pay a lot of attention to the elite performers who haven't embraced the breakthrough service of challenging and supporting other people. It's obvious that when we prioritize being liked by people over doing what's best for them, that's not a selfless service—that's us being all wrapped up in ourselves. But the dirty secret behind elite performers who always take the biggest, most difficult tasks off anyone's plate? They're usually hiding from their own big, nasty task. They're coddling themselves as much as anyone.

People tell you to “eat the frog,” to tackle the hardest things first so you face your fears before breakfast. It's the idea that you should just push through with the sole purpose of surviving. That's all wrong! The thing you are dreading—you need to get so much more out of that than just surviving. Consider the task you're dreading. An email, a phone call, or a meeting that you'd even schedule a root canal to avoid. Don't be shy, we've all got them. But commit to doing it in breakthrough service to yourself and your team.

It's a complete mindset pivot, but when we pay close attention, those opportunities we dread are some of the best opportunities we have to act in true breakthrough service. Be kind, not nice, to yourself and everyone around you.

Where are you being nice instead of kind?

WHERE DOES ASKING GET ANYONE?

Are you two‐faced?

I always thought “two‐faced” was a terrible insult. It wrapped so many traits no one wants into one package: Sneaky. Untrustworthy. Duplicitous.

In Japanese culture, they also talk about having two faces—the omote and the ura. Omote is the face you wear in public, the person you are to most of the world. Ura is the face you wear with your closest friends and family.

Learning a little about the Japanese concept of “two‐faced,” it didn't seem like a bad thing. Of course I had an ura—who isn't more vulnerable with the people they are super close to? I'll express my doubts and innermost thoughts to my wife that I'd never dream of spilling in line at the grocery store. I'll ask my friends personal questions and for big favors, and I expect them to do the same with me—but it would feel odd with an acquaintance, much less a random stranger. Even if we love everyone, we love the people we feel safest with on an entirely different level. We are committed to giving them more, so we feel comfortable asking for more. That just makes sense.

But I kept thinking about my omote. There are so many questions we're not supposed to ask people. It's just not polite to pry. And who wants to be seen as an “askhole”—the type of person who requests huge favors from people who don't owe them anything? The whole thing made me so uncomfortable—so I knew I needed to try it out.

Turns out, asking those omote‐level questions and favors can be a huge breakthrough service. If we want to have breakthroughs we haven't had before, we're going to need to do things differently. If we want to know what's possible, we're going to have to dig deeper, share and ask more than we're comfortable with—not just of ourselves, not just of our team, but of the whole world.

***

When I was a kid, there was only one group of people I looked up to more than NBA players—famous world explorers. No high school counselor was going to sign off on my plan to discover new lands—that career path was only open to astronauts and deep‐sea divers. But little did they know that when they signed off on my plan to play basketball, that plan took me everywhere. For six years, I slept mostly in cars, buses, and airports, and lived my waking hours in the strange new cities and countries in between. I made friends and learned how to communicate in languages I'd never even heard. I spent more time exploring the world than on any basketball court, and I found that with the right glasses, every person and every place contained a multitude of undiscovered lands.

Lots of people love to travel, but very few explore. I can wait impatiently for a decent Groupon deal for SpaceX tickets to Mars, but I can also easily discover new worlds without ever even pulling out my passport. One of the most intensive trips I've ever taken was with Landry Fields, and we never even had to leave the historic Pauley Pavilion practice court. The former superstar NBA player and current NBA GM didn't have to take any interest in me, but he did—and taught me a critical component of breakthrough service.

I was consulting for UCLA basketball, and Landry was just one of seven different NBA scouts who all came to watch this practice and evaluate future potential players. The six other scouts sat in stony silence, scribbling in their notebooks, listening intensely to Coach Steve Alford as he ran the players through a variety of offensive and defensive drills.

“David, right? Can I ask you a few questions?” Landry asked.

I was startled—he'd not only broken the scout‐silence, but he knew my name!

“What do you think of the players?”

I answered with something very generic: “They're great kids, working hard, and I really enjoy being around them.” A complete BS answer—not that it wasn't true, but it was about as deep and useful as commenting on the weather to a stranger. It was a surface‐level interview answer.

“Is there anything that stands out to you about that player?” Landry asked, pointing to Lonzo Ball.

Lonzo was the top‐rated player in the entire country at that time; anyone who'd ever touched a basketball knew he was going to be a top five pick in the upcoming NBA draft, and most likely the number one overall selection. I had to wonder if Landry was cut out for scouting if he didn't already have a full stat‐sheet on Lonzo.

“Yeah, I love him, he's got great vision, he really knows how to put his teammates in the best position possible to succeed. He's got a bright future ahead of him in the NBA, for sure,” I responded.

“Sure,” Landry said, “he's special, but what makes him different from every other player in the draft? Who is he as a person? What is he like off the court, and in the locker room? How does he treat the walk‐on players on the team? Who is he at the core? I already know he's the player that everyone gets to see nightly on the SportsCenter Top Ten plays.”

Wow, Landry wasn't messing around. No other scouts were asking these types of questions. He wanted to know Lonzo inside and out.

So I told him about how Lonzo reached out to a walk‐on who was going through a tough time with his family. How he was the player who made sure the team hung together off the court. How he helped the manager fold the towels in the locker room after practice. How Lonzo genuinely cared about others—on the basketball court and off.

Landry smiled. That was what he was looking for—that's what he'd been digging for. He'd been searching for the information and clarity that no stats sheet or highlight reel contained. Landry wasn't just willing to keep asking questions until he found the unexplored areas—he listened with value. He made me feel valued, but he continued to contribute by asking clarifying questions while I answered.

Far too often, we avoid asking questions because either we don't want to hear the answers, or we are too consumed with ourselves. When we do ask the question, we listen passively, saying nothing and waiting for the answers. Breakthrough service is being actively curious in others, and actively asking questions to find out everything about them. We're in good company; Socrates was so famous for teaching through questioning that we still use his method today. The Gospels record Jesus asking 307 questions; in comparison, he was asked 183 questions, and only gave definitive answers to 3. One of the greatest leaders of all time asked more questions than he answered. Talk about the definition of being curious! Our breakthrough might not be as simple as asking clarifying questions, but it will matter greatly. It is the difference between chatting about the weather or exploring new lands; it's helping others to understand the hidden depths within them so that they can break through.

Where are you while you're listening, and where are your questions?

***

Brett Hagler grew up like me, infatuated with basketball and determined to make it big in the game. Unfortunately, he also shared my issues with gravity. Brett was twenty‐four when he realized that no matter how hard he lived and breathed basketball, he was never going to reach the next level—that gravity was always going to hold him down.

Brett was a competitor through and through, and without basketball, he had no idea how he was going to fill that void. Basketball had been his driving force for so long that he hadn't even really developed any other passions. That is, other than watching The Jetsons.

On a mission for a new life purpose, Brett decided to explore a part of the world he'd never been to and help people who were in a worse jam than he was in. He linked up with a nonprofit and hopped on a flight down to Haiti, where the 2010 earthquake had years earlier destroyed thousands of homes, and disaster relief charities had quickly responded. Brett stepped off the plane and saw the sea of tents, volunteers, and families without homes, and knew that something was very wrong. He was expecting to see pain—after all, he'd come here with dreams to help alleviate it. As a highly empathetic person, he wasn't even surprised to be overwhelmed by it. But there was something more here, and Brett became determined to figure out what it was.

The first issue was easy enough to pinpoint. It was 2013, three years after the earthquake, but there were still thousands of families living in tents, unable to safely rebuild their homes and their lives. Brett's group was here to build a single home; the math just didn't add up. How many hundreds of trips, thousands of volunteers, and countless hours would it take to give all these people back their homes?

Brett was here to be of service, but he quickly realized he wanted to be in Haiti in breakthrough service. So he started asking questions. He questioned the prevailing wisdom about the costs of construction, the economics of volunteering, and the pace of building. He asked questions to families in the tents, and actively listened as they answered with what they wanted and the ways in which they wanted to be empowered. Armed with their answers, his empathy, and the fierce sense of competition that he developed in basketball, and even his childhood love for The Jetsons, he headed home to grow his breakthrough service.

Brett's mission quickly spread from Haiti to several other countries; he set out to build entire communities in ways no one had seen done before, while simultaneously building a culture of empowerment philanthropy within them. He asked, and people told him that there was real power in home ownership, especially when they never thought they could afford one. So he cut the cost of making the houses in half in order to help the people who really need to purchase their own. He leaned on the innovative elements he loved watching on The Jetsons to come up with the idea of building homes faster using 3D printing! He made philanthropy a realistic career with an attractive salary, rather than sticking to the limited mindset that it's only a career path for those who are already independently wealthy. He constructed a transparent donation system so that people can be confident that their funds are going directly towards the projects they support.

To date, the charity that Brett founded, New Story, has constructed over three thousand homes in over thirty communities and counting, providing an awe‐inspiring and incredible service. But I'd say his breakthrough service started long before when he decided to actively listen by questioning—and without this breakthrough service ability, the rest of what he accomplished would have never happened.

When we let go of the status quo and actually get our hands dirty with the problem, we are able to see the solutions that were there all along. We must look outside the box, yes, but first we must look from the inside out.

Where are you sympathetically nodding instead of asking how you can help?

***

The earthquake shook my body like a ragdoll, and I was having trouble standing. Unfortunately, I was all alone. Not in the room—no, there were a couple thousand people in there with me, although I was the only one up on the stage. But my earthquake was internal, so if I lost my footing and started flopping around on the ground, it was going to cause quite a stir. I hadn't seen any keynote speeches before, but I was pretty certain I was supposed to stay upright.

Here I was, the keynote speaker for the Nestlé annual kickoff. I was the hired gun to spark not only this one event, but set the tone for their entire year, and I hadn't even seen a single keynote speech before, much less given one.

After my first book was published, my friend Paul asked if he could bring me into his office at Nestlé to motivate his team and drop some wisdom. I assumed he wanted me to do the type of team and individual coaching I had been doing for years, so I quickly agreed to doing it—but then my eyes widened as he started describing what he envisioned I would do. Speeches. Big speeches. I'd been toying with pursuing a speaking career, but it was all very much in the daydream phase. I had no track record, no speaking highlight reel, no sold‐out arenas, and definitely no hot coal gimmick. Heck, I didn't even have a speech. I laughed it off into the “someday” folder—or I thought I did. Paul, being the excellent member of my breakthrough team that he was, apparently didn't hear it that way.

A month later, I got a call from the person at Nestlé in charge of vetting potential speakers. I was surprised, but I wasn't about to turn down a possible breakthrough opportunity—particularly since Paul had put his own neck on the line by asking his employer. So I figured that having the conversation never hurts, right?

Well, it became pretty obvious a few minutes in that I was already way in over my head. The very first step of the vetting process was a nonstarter for me: they needed speaking videos. Of course they did. Problem was, I'd never even spoken to a live audience, much less been filmed doing so. I couldn't have film from events that never happened. I thanked the man on the other line of the phone, and placed the idea back up on the “someday” shelf.

Except my breakthrough team was already coming together around me, sweeping that shelf clean. Paul believed I could do it—he'd put his professional reputation on the line to recommend me to his company. When I told my wife I needed film, she knew exactly what to do and immediately dialed up her acting coach. Of course I could have film—we'd rent out a local church stage, grab a few friends, and with a couple of quick costume changes, we could make some Hollywood magic. The speaker who'd never spoken could have a dozen clips of himself in front of adoring audiences. Late into the night, my editor and I came up with sound clips for speeches that didn't exist—but they sure sounded cool. Less than twenty‐four hours later, I had an awesome speaking reel. Shoot, I almost fooled myself into thinking I was a real‐life professional speaker.

I hesitated before I submitted it to Nestlé, but I knew I owed it to my team. It was the longest shot in the world, anyway. Competition in the speaking field is fierce; by the time you get up to Fortune 500 engagements, you've got references, relationships, awards, and all that “speaker” other stuff. But I had my breakthrough confidence, so I was willing to lay down my one‐story ranch of cards next to Taj Mahals like those of Tony Robbins. I'd probably never get a callback, but I couldn't refuse making the ask—not after so many people had poured into me.

When I got a call from a Minnesota number asking for Keynote Motivational Speaker David Nurse, I was caught off‐guard, but quickly recovered: “Yes, that is me,” I answered confidently. The conversation lasted about thirty minutes and primarily consisted of me making promises I thought a motivational speaker would make. At the end, the man asked me the final question—the only one that really choked me up: “So, what's your speaking fee?”

I talk every day, all day, for free! Shoot, I'll pay Nestlé to allow me to do this talk! Wait, what talk? I don't have a talk!

I opened my mouth, prepared to admit that I'd taken this game as far as I could. As much as I'd love to be a bona fide “askhole,” I just didn't have it in me. Nothing had ever been just given to me before; I've always had to earn my spot (even if I had to earn it on the spot!).

But a sudden flash of inspiration shot out of my brain, straight through my open mouth, and I spouted out a truly ludicrous number.

Without hesitation, the man on the other end of the phone said, “Great, we'll send the contract over tomorrow.”

Wait, what? I was in. I was not only in—I would be able to pay my breakthrough team back for their time and belief in me. I was officially a keynote motivational speaker. Now, I just had to figure out what the heck I was going to talk about.

Luckily, I had an ace up my sleeve—my book editor and right‐hand partner in crime. She helped me find the flow for my first book, Pivot & Go (as well as the book you are currently reading!); and she helped me craft up the soundbites for the amazing speeches‐that‐never‐actually‐happened in my speaking reel. Together, we could scheme up something on breakthroughs, since that was Nestlé's theme for the year. Starting with just the title—The Breakthrough Blueprint—and an aspirational tagline—“How to turn happy accidents into regularly occurring breakthroughs”—we worked tirelessly, day after day, until we had something so authentic, tight, and true that we thought it might even make a great book someday….

Then, I set to burning it into my brain. But it wasn't happening. I am about the worst memorizer you can imagine. I can't even remember my wife's phone number, let alone an entire speech. I practiced the talk in my head while walking around a Tokyo basketball court as the Japanese basketball team that I consulted for awaited each game's tip‐off. I had one week to go, and no capacity to do it. Frustrated, distraught, and stressed to the max, I announced to myself I was calling Nestlé and telling them to find someone else.

But my team would have none of that. My editor, my wife, and her acting coach decided they'd do anything to make sure I saw this through—including listening to me stumble through the talk 163 times. I'm sure I could have stretched it to 164—heck, I'm sure they would have patiently sat through it 164,000 times—but at 163 (yes, I recorded the exact number; confidence is in the preparation!) I didn't just sound okay—I sounded like the actual, real‐life motivational speaker I'd claimed to be.

I became obsessed. Possessed. But that's what you have to do in order to learn a new skill in hyper‐speed time. That was a personal breakthrough I found: to become outstanding, we must go through a period of obsession. A period of completely blocking out the chatter and noise surrounding us so that we can pour every ounce of our being into the new skill. We don't have to go at this pace forever, but to be elite at anything, we must run parts of our life marathon in Usain Bolt sprints. I couldn't have done it for myself—but in service to my team, I could make sacrifices and run faster than the speed of light.

“Colorful” by Jukebox the Ghost blared through the speaker system as I picked my body up from the chair in that Nestlé auditorium—literally forcing myself up to the stage. I stood in front of an audience of Nestlé's highest performers and world‐changing minds. It was on.

After what felt like five minutes, I glanced down at the clock and realized that fifty minutes had actually whizzed by—and so had I. I wrapped up my talk to a standing ovation from the sea of motivated and inspired Nestlé employees.

I had done it. The man who hired me bounded up to the stage, gave me a big hug, and said, “Thank you, you crushed it!” I wandered down into the audience as multiple people came up to shake my hand and tell me it was the best talk they'd watched in the eighteen‐year run of the event. Better than even some of the world‐renowned speakers who had formally graced the stage—even David Goggins, who spoke the year before.

If I hadn't put aside my personal pride and fear of looking like an “askhole,” I would have let down my whole team. What looked easy on stage—hitting all my points (and having points to hit!), landing all my jokes, even nailing the most natural‐looking gestures, steps, and movements—was the cumulation of tireless, around‐the‐clock obsession, preparing for an opportunity that could change my life. And it wasn't just my tireless efforts; it took a village of people who poured into me because they believed in my breakthrough. I was the one carrying the baton to the finish line, but if I'd refused to ask in the first place, I wouldn't have just crushed my own opportunity—I would have also thrown away their efforts as well. Asking wasn't a selfish act—it was a breakthrough service.

We've all felt that regret wondering why we didn't just ask that question. Why couldn't we pull ourselves together to ask for that one thing we wanted so badly—even if we didn't necessarily “deserve” it. What was holding us back? Were we afraid the answer wouldn't be the one we wanted? Were we afraid we would be laughed at, ridiculed, made to feel less than, or publicly squashed like an ant? Probably a mixture of all of the above.

Plain and simple, a question unasked is a question unanswered—and when you're working on behalf of a breakthrough team, finding answers is always a service. Ever since my Nestlé experience, I've committed to performing the breakthrough service of asking.

Asking isn't selfish—it's a breakthrough service. The answer to everything you are looking for might just be one question away. Asking the question doesn't mean you need to accept and act on every piece of advice you get; it means getting more snapshots so you can put together a more accurate vision. We often don't want to listen to our parents, our spouses, or even our kids, because we want to be right and in charge. Being right is actually about seeking from your team and making the most informed decision together. Without asking for help and guidance, you will never know. Shed your pride in being right and ask. When you are in the midst of a storm in your life, there is only one way to right the ship: ask!

Take the first step, ask the question. The second step could be just the breakthrough you have been searching for!

Yes, of course, insist on getting what you deserve: the promotion, the pay raise, the new challenges. You know the tireless work you have put in and you know you deserve to be compensated and appreciated for it. Ask the question, not out of selfishness, but out of wanting to better others around you in an act of breakthrough service. Tell your boss it's time you take on a bigger challenge, a bigger opportunity to help drive the culture and the entire company to higher heights. It's actually selfish not to ask when you know you can empower and help others through the promotions, opportunities, and requests you can use to further their lives. Don't think of it in terms of “deserving”—think of it in terms of how you can use moving forward as an act of breakthrough service to others.

Where is the opportunity you “deserve,” and where can you do better for others by asking?

WHERE SHOULD YOU SHOW UP?

Do you consider yourself a charitable person? Do you perform acts of charity? Do you contribute time, money, and other personal or professional resources to charity?

Not complicated, right? I think most of us consider ourselves (or would like to consider ourselves) charitable. We want to make the world a better place—that's one of the key drivers for pursuing breakthroughs, after all. And we recognize that we are blessed with talents, strengths, and resources that others do not have.

But who is worthy of your charity? Would you be comfortable receiving the charity you give? I think these questions are more complicated and difficult for us to answer. Thinking deeply about charity makes us uncomfortable.

Acting in breakthrough service requires us to acknowledge that we all have different elite strengths—and no person on Earth has them all. You are both more and less fortunate than everyone you will ever meet. Be charitable with relentless consistency. Show up everywhere ready to contribute your elite strengths. Approach everyone with charity and respect, from the CEO to the janitor, your competitor, and the person without a home. You are offering the best of yourself to help them breakthrough; provide the breakthrough service of approaching it from their perspective.

Please keep giving to charities, please keep being charitable. But in all areas of your life and your breakthrough service, close the gap to understand better how you can contribute to others' breakthroughs. The charitable spirit is at the heart of all breakthrough service, regardless of the circumstance.

Keep showing up. If you are not allowed to serve by doing it your way, ask what you can do to help. Always show up as the person who wants to act in breakthrough service. Maybe you'll get the chance to apply your breakthrough solution to the problem. Maybe you'll learn more about what the actual pain points are, and how different they were from your outsider perspective. Maybe you'll earn trust. Maybe you'll be part of the breakthrough. Expand the breakthrough possibilities by just simply showing up.

***

Coming to the office day after day might not seem like an incredible act of breakthrough service to many—but it should.

Edwin Arroyave's family emigrated from Columbia when he was just a toddler, but they weren't living the American Dream. Two weeks after settling in Glendora, California, the federal authorities raided their beautiful new home. The feds kept coming back, deeply suspicious that Edwin's parents were involved in drug trafficking for the Medellín Cartel—and they weren't without reason. After the fourth raid, Edwin's father was arrested. Knowing he would be incarcerated for years, Edwin's father told the boy he needed to take care of his family.

So Edwin went out to find a job as soon as he could, but he was young, painfully shy, and overly anxious. He went to interview after interview, failing them all. But he kept showing up. Day after day after day.

Edwin's interview at L.D. Services was a particular flop. He had sweated through his shirt, and his mind went blank each time the interviewer asked him a question. He stumbled over words and forgot some altogether. Not an auspicious launch for a telemarketing gig.

As he left the interview, he walked out the door past a man who abruptly stopped him. When the man said, “When are you starting, kid?” Edwin told him that he wasn't—that he'd failed the interview.

But in a flash of bravery, Edwin mustered the courage to ask the man for his help. And the man replied, “I have a job for you.”

For three years, Edwin continued to show up to that job. He didn't only do his work, he did more than was even asked of him. He would wait outside to be available for anyone who needed help. If a salesman needed a hand, he would lend it; if an employee needed a coffee run, he would bolt to the nearest Starbucks. Whatever they would allow him to do, he did.

Edwin spent three years continually showing up, always ready to work. And ready to work harder if the opportunity presented itself.

And then one day, it happened. Five employees showed up late after a long night of partying, and the boss fired them all on the spot—the same five employees who stood between Edwin and the next level. He was immediately promoted, despite being too young and too inexperienced.

Edwin went on to start his own home security company, now worth upwards of $100 million, marry the amazing and stunning Teddi Mellencamp (daughter of rock legend John Mellencamp), and raise three adorable, full‐of‐life kids. But what really grabs me is that Edwin showed relentless consistency in showing up and serving in the ways that the company needed—not showing up and doing whatever he thought was best, but listening to the company’s pain points and implementing positive change no matter the grunt work it took.

The relentlessness Edwin developed by consistently showing up day after day is the one commitment that took the seemingly impossible and made it possible. It is the same breakthrough service that cuts through every excuse for you and everyone around you. We are not the products of our surroundings, our upbringings, or any situation or circumstance that comes our way. We are the product of our consistency.

The simplest thing you can do is be relentlessly consistent. But it's also the most difficult thing you can do. If you can show up anywhere with relentless consistency, despite your fear of rejection, your background, or any other element, that is an act of breakthrough service that will reverberate into all your efforts.

Where do you allow rejection to deflect your breakthrough service?

***

The final buzzer had sounded almost three hours ago, but everyone was still celebrating in the locker room. It was a sensory smorgasbord of champagne, sweat, laughter, and the strobing flash of cameras. We all crowded near the NBA Trophy, deliriously excited to capture this moment as a permanent memory. We were here. The Toronto Raptors had just defeated the dynasty that was the Golden State Warriors on their home floor at Oracle Arena. I was overjoyed and bursting with pride, both for my uncle Nick, whose coaching had transformed the Raptors into champions, and for my friends on the team, Jeremy Lin, Norm Powell, and OG Anunoby.

I was taking a picture with Finals MVP Kawhi Leonard when I saw a man about my height push a stroller into the room, with his wife at his side. Anywhere else, it wouldn't have seemed unusual—a beautiful couple and their baby, out for a walk. In this room, at this moment, they certainly stood out. The man was dressed in full Golden State Warriors sweats.

It couldn't be who I thought it was….

But my eyes weren't playing tricks on me. Steph Curry, Golden State Warriors' golden boy, one of the league's most dynamic players, best shooters, and just all‐around highly respected superstars, was in the Raptors’ locker room with his wife and kids.

He walked through the locker room, shaking the hand of each player, coach, front office member—and even the water boy. He genuinely congratulated them on their championship victory.

Steph Curry didn't immediately drag himself home after his team's dynasty came crumbling down. Instead he waited for three hours and gave the Raptors the opportunity to celebrate each other alone. Then he went out of his way to drop by and express his admiration by celebrating the accomplishments of “the enemy” after they not only defeated his team, but also stole his chance to be cemented as one of the greatest ever to play the game.

Unreal.

But that's who he was. Steph Curry was fun‐loving, a great teammate, and an encouraging superstar. His reputation preceded him, yes—but no one, and I mean no one, does what Steph did that night in the locker room. To this day, it is one of the greatest moments of genuine respect I have ever seen in professional sports—or in anything professional for that matter.

Character is not who you are when others are watching and you have to turn it on. Character is who you are when the bright lights are off and no eyes are on you. It is an act of incredible breakthrough service to show up as your best self at all times—to celebrate victories regardless of whether they are your own. To celebrate others' victories even when they are at your expense.

It doesn't matter who you are or how much the world has told you that your time and attention are worth. You can be the same exact person on camera as you are off. You can act in breakthrough service by being relentlessly consistent and always being present. Being a BIOnic leader requires looking outside yourself and gaining the perspective of the world. If you want to serve your breakthrough and your team with genuine, effective leadership, you have to be able to serve that to everyone in every situation. Not just when it benefits you, not just when it is easy, and not just when you feel like it. You will stand next to other elite performers in every walk of life, and you must respect and celebrate the contribution of every single one. No matter your level of talent or stature, you will face moments of frustration, anger, disappointment, and hurt. Those are the most critical times to act in breakthrough service.

Where is it most uncomfortable for you to act charitably?

WHERE'S THE CONNECTION?

Making connections is a critical component of building your breakthrough cooperation, but it can also be an incredible act of breakthrough service. The twist is that you're not focused on building your own connections—you're connecting others, so that they have the opportunities to cultivate the relationships for their own breakthrough teams. Utilize the breakthrough cooperation skills you practice in your own life in service to others without any concern for what you are getting back.

Plus, it's easy. You know one person, and you know another person. The two of them don't know each other—that's a quick introductory email to send. Boom! Breakthrough service, right?

But it's not that simple. It is important when making connections (and in all acts of your breakthrough service) to act with thought and care. Good intentions are not enough. If you are not thinking about the people you are serving and how you can benefit them, you are acting more in service of yourself and your ego. Making connections for others can be an invaluable breakthrough service as long as you take the time to think and understand their missions, drives, and complements.

Unlike your own connections, you can't cultivate ones you make in service for others. That responsibility falls on them. But you do need to make sure that there's something substantial there to cultivate!

***

I swear, I thought he was a myth—no one seemed to actually know what “the man who knows everyone” even looked like. He was behind Allen Iverson, behind LeBron James, behind _____ (you can fill in the blank with any NBA player or even hip‐hop mogul). Malice at the Palace? Yeah, he was there, and was the only man who could hold back a red‐hot angry Ron Artest. Rumors about Wes abounded in whispers (most of which ended up being verified eventually). He roomed with Michael Jordan at basketball camp when they were kids. He rubbed shoulders with U.S. presidents. Phil Knight brought him in to consult on how to grow Nike. He created a mind‐boggling $120 million dollar marketing deal for LeBron. He was everywhere. You were never more than a few conversations away from hearing about another mysterious connection he had or another industry‐altering deal that he was putting together. “World Wide Wes” supposedly knew anyone you desperately wanted to know … but no one seemed to know him personally.

When GQ finally did an expose on this mystery man, people diligently read every line to try and figure him out, but the truth was stranger and simpler than fiction: he had his hand in every jar because he wasn't taking from the jars. As Reebok Executive Tom Shine said, “He's never asked me for anything. Wes doesn't have a hidden agenda.”

There are very few people in the world like Wes who can give so freely without at least holding something back for themselves. People will do anything and everything to get close to this kind of person. And I was lucky to learn from the most mysterious master of breakthrough service ever to grace basketball—William Wesley, World Wide Wes himself.

It was one of my first visits to the big city of Los Angeles, and the bright lights scared me as much as they intrigued me. LA can be very overwhelming for a kid coming from the farmlands of the Midwest. They say everything is bigger in Texas; wait until you get to LA. As much as I wanted to turn and run in those early days, this was the mecca of basketball. If I wanted to make it in this industry, I had to learn the ropes, and fast.

Walking into the Hangar in Santa Monica alongside my friend and only NBA connection, Gary Sacks, was the most intimidating experience of my young life. The Hanger had been a small airport, renovated and transformed into a basketball arena; this weekend, it was host to the Nike All‐American Basketball Camp. The top high school and college players were there to showcase their talent in front of a full house of NBA coaches and GMs. I was outclassed and outdone —every identity I'd collected in my first twenty‐some years, from top player to top coach to top networker meant nothing in this sea of talent. I was honored just to be in the room, breathing the same air.

I didn't want to be a nuisance to Gary, so I slipped away to find a seat in the bleachers by myself. There were still a few people around, but I was careful to put myself at a distance so that no one would feel obligated to talk to me. I was the least exciting person in the room that night—I didn't want any of these people, on their basketball‐critical missions, to mistake me for someone they should waste their time and talent on.

“How's it going, kid? What's your story?”

I turned towards the man in the Nike tracksuit sitting at my ten o'clock and launched into the new spiel I'd been practicing: “I'm good. I'm David, I run basketball camps and do workouts for NBA players.”

I paused, remembering where I was—just because I didn't recognize this guy didn't mean anything. He could have been the shadow king of the NBA, for all I knew. “Okay, that's a stretch—I've done one workout for one NBA player so far. But I'm working on more!”

The man turned his head and smiled at me. “That's great, that's what you love to do?”

“Yeah, I love it. I absolutely love it. I want to be an NBA coach someday; that's my goal.”

No response.

I must have overstepped my boundaries. I knew I shouldn't tell people that; way too unrealistic. I was sure this man was just letting the comment slide instead of laughing in my face.

About thirty seconds went by before the man in the Nike jumpsuit said, “I want to introduce you to my friend Goro Nakajima.”

“Okay,” I managed to squeak out.

The man picked up his phone, and within minutes, I was shaking hands with Goro, the head of everything Nike Basketball International. He was the one who brought Yao Ming to the NBA from China, and the one who handled international relations for MJ, Kobe, all of the greats.

“David wants to work the Nike All‐Asia Camp. Can you make this happen?” the man in the jumpsuit asked Goro.

I froze. I never said that. I didn't even know what the Nike All‐Asia Camp was. Now, Goro, this man with immense power in the basketball world, was probably thinking I was asking for outlandish things.

I barely had time to start panicking before Goro responded, “Absolutely,” and asked for my email and cell number.

The next day, I had an email offer for the Nike All‐Asia Camp shooting coach position, which kicked everything off. I went to China and earned the respect of my coaching peers—and the friendship and trust of Goro, who would eventually recommend me as a shooting coach to the Brooklyn Nets years later. That short interaction on the bleachers of a renovated airport began my career in the NBA. The man in the Nike jumpsuit handed me the key to my breakthrough without asking for a thing. I never even asked his name. When Goro told me, years later, that I was yet another benefactor of the breakthrough service of World Wide Wes, I began to recognize how such a man could amass the power and the breakthrough cooperation of so many. If he ever came to me and told me to place my trust in someone else, no matter how unproven, I would give it in a heartbeat.

Just as being a cultivator is key to breakthrough cooperation, being a connector for others without focusing on what you could possibly gain from it, is an incredible act of breakthrough service. It's something great basketball players learn on the court from leaders like Erving “Magic” Johnson, who earned five NBA championship rings with the Showtime Los Angeles Lakers. Magic is such a legend, he almost doesn't seem real. Who could average that many points per game, win that many championships, and handle the ball that well? But Magic's greatest ability was the most mundane, the most ordinary. It's something no highlight reel captured, yet it was a critical moment preceding every memorable play. Magic Johnson set up assists. All point guards can pass and rack up assists, but Magic didn't just toss the ball to his teammate: he made sure his teammates were in their sweet spots, where they each would have the most potential to score. Trust me, there is a huge difference.

As a three‐point shooter, I shine in a very specific, targeted pocket on the court; if a teammate passes me the ball when I'm in rhythm, stepping into my shot at the top of the key dead center, it's going in ten times out of ten. If a pass comes to my feet and I'm off‐balance, who knows?

A teammate who concentrates on assists is often more valuable than any individual shooter; he plays a role in each and every shot any player on the team takes. And Magic concentrated on his setup assists time and time again. Throughout his NBA career, he averaged 11.19 assists per game, which was head and shoulders above the second‐place holder, John Stockton.

From pickup games to NBA practices, ball hogs are terrible on the court. I don't care if you're one of the best shooters in the world—pass the ball. Yes, even to the player who doesn't shoot as well as you do. Especially to that guy! No one grows if they never shoot! Act in breakthrough service and set up awesome assists.

That goes double for the workplace. No matter how well‐intentioned, the “Here, Just Let Me Do It” bosses destroy morale. They create an atmosphere where employees don't try to do their jobs as well as they can, much less improve. If it's not your job, stop hogging the ball. Be a BIOnic leader—take the time to set up your struggling subordinates with great assists, and they'll keep advancing.

But honestly, this failure of BIOnic leadership starts closer to home. At home, actually. Doing homework and school projects, and making calls to teachers or other parents to resolve your child's personal issues—is there anything you won't do for your kid?

Yes, you're way better and faster at building a baking soda volcano, but they need that long‐term personal growth. Instead of doing the work for them, embrace the Magic Johnson within you and set your kids up for success. Show them how to do the project, then hand the reins over. Teach them how to make a call to an adult, then let them dial. Teach them how to use their words to stand up against bullies. Having difficult experiences isn't always the worst thing for them, but not having a backbone is.

Magic Johnson could have scored every basket, but that wouldn't have made any of his other teammates better. You can do everything for your kids, co‐workers, and teammates, but that will never serve them in the long run. Be a BIOnic leader and make the connection assists for people so they can do it themselves. It's a much greater breakthrough service than just handing out solutions.

Where are you “hogging” rather than “assisting”?

***

When I turned thirty‐one, the vision of my career path ahead started getting hazy. I'd been training NBA players for eight years, and I could definitely keep going, at least for a while. But it was starting to wear on my body, and my heart was getting restless. I could always pivot and focus more heavily on the health and wellness optimization I had integrated into my coaching over the past couple of years. But there was another (far foggier and less practical) path, too: motivational speaking and publishing the book I'd been writing in my spare time.

I knew that I wanted to be around elite minds and high achievers. I'd spent most of my career on the courts, so I didn't know nearly as many people in the health and leadership spaces. Basketball people connect by being in the same room—physically in the same arenas. Leaders in these other fields seemed to exist mostly online, and their status was projected in their follower counts. I didn't have a social media following; my Instagram likes hovered around between forty‐five and fifty if I really had the filter and caption on point.

I figured if I could just get a few of these leaders in a room together for dinner, I could learn from them and develop relationships with them. If I really did it right and got the perfect match of leaders, I would be serving them greatly. As a bonus, they would always remember me as the one who put them together. But only if it was the right match.

It wouldn't be the first time I tried to be the Great Connector. Between Magic Johnson's assists on court and Wes's assists in real life, I understood this breakthrough service, and I had nothing but admiration and appreciation for it. When I'd tried to emulate these masters, though, I'd hit some snags. I tried to operate with the selflessness Wes had shown me, but throwing friends together to connect wasn't a breakthrough service.

There is a big difference between connecting mutual friends in the hopes they'll hit it off and doing some of the strategic, purposeful legwork to make sure they can work in breakthrough cooperation together.

I put in some real time scanning profiles trying to decide who to invite to a breakthrough dinner. I couldn't fill it with only my friends or just pick random people. And what if there were no shared interests? What if they didn't like each other? The conversation would die, and I would be remembered as the host of this painful event.

I started playing with formulas to match people's missions, goals, and commonalities, in order to better sift through profiles and estimate the probability of a successful connection. The connection calculator was born, and very shortly, I knew exactly who I was going to invite to this dinner:

• Max Lugavere, NYT best‐selling nutrition expert
• Lewis Howes, NYT best‐selling lifestyle entrepreneur and an iTunes Top 100 podcast host
• Mark Sisson, NYT best‐selling nutrition author and the top health and wellness guy for many years
• Khalil Rafati, founder/owner of Malibu Beach Yoga and SunLife Organics, author and speaker

Khalil, the only one I vaguely knew, offered to hook this dinner up at the exclusive Soho House in Malibu.

I slipped into the DMs of the other three on my list to invite them to the dinner and tell them a little about myself. I was shocked when they all confirmed they would be there and expressed how excited they were to meet each other.

All five of us got together and had an epic three‐hour dinner: laughter, great conversations, and vulnerability I never thought would be shared over a first meeting. I didn't say much (I didn't really know what to say), but I listened, asked questions, and made sure everyone was having a good time.

They did, and that dinner cemented our friendship. More importantly, it led to a web of breakthrough cooperation and breakthrough service. These guys appeared on each other's podcasts and started cross‐promoting, which allowed them to reach each other's sizable markets. The connection calculator was a success; I'd acted in breakthrough service.

I have put on nearly twenty of these high‐level dinners since, facilitating great connections that have changed the lives and elevated the missions of very high‐level individuals. All because I realized the breakthrough service I could provide with the connection calculator, the ultimate assist machine. I didn't just pass the ball; I went straight Magic Johnson mode and set everyone up for their highest level of success. That's what being a true connector is all about.

We all have “shooting pockets,” our sweet spots where we're perfectly positioned to receive the ball. As leaders, through years of studying the people we interact with, leaning on our gut intuition, and actively asking how we can best set people up, we learn where their “shooting pockets” are.

A BIOnic leader can tell where people are strong, where they need help, and what roadblocks are keeping them from becoming the best versions of themselves. Instead of cookie‐cutter leading, we are able to find each person's shooting pockets, setting them up for instant success and long‐term growth.

Where are your connections’ shooting pockets?

***

BREAKTHROUGH SERVICE KEYS

• We need multiple perspectives of the world to understand any situation.
• Challenge and support.
• Be curious, ask questions. Listening isn't a passive activity.
• To become outstanding, we must go through a period of obsession.
• Keep showing up everywhere to act with charity and respect.
• Character is who you are when the cameras are off.
• Connect with purpose, not with concern for personal gain.
• Set up assists.

BREAKTHROUGH SERVICE TOOL: CONNECTION CALCULATOR

Breakthrough service means always being on the lookout for unrecognized needs. Challenge yourself to identify at least two elite performers you can help connect to complement their own breakthroughs. These connections can be professional or personal—the only requirement is choosing the most thoughtful, strategic connection possible.

Enter the Connection Calculator!

There are five factors that I weigh and consider when I'm making connections for others:

1. Reflective Missions: Are these people on similar or complementary missions? (A baker and an auto mechanic might not be the right match.).
2. Complementary Passion Projects: How do they express their missions—do they have podcasts? Did they write books? Do they work in similar mediums?
3. Distance on the Path: Have these people grown their missions to similar points? (It might not serve both parties well to connect someone with 500 Instagram followers to someone with 500,000, depending on the other factors.)
4. Rise Factor: Would this meeting be a needle mover in their lives?
5. Serving Hearts: If the opportunity arose, would each person help the other?

If you can't mark off at least four of these, you should consider recalibrating. If you can hit four out of five funneling factors, you have a match. And if you hit five out of five, you have a home run!