It’s Father’s Day, and I’m just back from visiting my 85-year old Dad who lives across town (here in NYC) and who is one of my closest friends.We were always close, but got much closer after my mother died 10 years ago. That closeness didn’t happen by accident, though. I put in the time; I went on trips with him; I did the things he wanted to do. And over the last decade, we have built an extraordinary lexicon of inside jokes and references: material we can use to advise each other, build on previous conversations, and crack each other up.

I’d planned to post a work-related blog tonight—either a video or some content on creativity, communication and presentation skills—but as I rode the bus home, I thought about what I valued and what would hold meaning.

At one point tonight, when I had been updating my father on my business and mentioned that I could probably crank it up a few more levels, he said something which startled me. He raised his fork, sat back in his chair and said, “What for?”

His was a great question. And as we bounced it around, we both agreed that it would only be of value if it was fun and if it was engaging…otherwise, what for? At some point, how much IS enough?

The conversation reminded me of a post I’d done in May last year which had resonated with many people. So I decided to share it here again. The FACT that this post resonated with so many people and in such a deep way says a lot about where we are as a culture and the pressure so many of us feel.

Please let me know what you think—add a comment, share it with your friends, put up a tweet, or shoot an email to us at [email protected]. We love hearing from you.

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2 years ago, I took my 83-year-old father to Las Vegas. I had a keynote event there and knew he’d get a kick out of the whole scene. He’d never been, and given that my mother had died in 2002, I thought this might be a fun trip in the midst of the Mother’s Day week.

As an admirer of art and of architecture, my father was completely amused by what he called the “elegant kitsch” of the whole Vegas scene, especially at places like The Bellagio and Caesar’s Palace.

As we walked the halls and casinos at The Venetian and The Palazzo, he looked closely at each painting and sculpture—fascinated by the replicas of great Italian Renaissance masters. My father knew these works well because he’d studied art & architecture in graduate school, is a huge fan of Italian art, and for 45 years had been married to my mother who was herself a Venetian scholar.

Over dinner one evening, he and I were talking about life, art and one’s impact on the world.

He acknowledged the enormity of painters such as Michelangelo, Titian, and Tintoretto–their impact and body of work—and where he stood by contrast in terms of his influence on the world.

And so I asked him about himself and where he felt his greatest contributions were. He thought for a moment, staring off into the past, and then, with a smile on his face, he said something I will never forget.

About his many years, his work in architecture, industrial design and in the non-for-profit world, his experiences traveling, raising a family and of course being with my mother, he responded:

“The events may have been small…but the satisfaction was great.”

The joy in his smile was profound.

Most of us will never create a legacy as large as that of Michelangelo.

But many of us have a shot at creating a series of events that bring people tremendous meaning and satisfaction.

Amidst the pressure today to accomplish and fulfill one’s potential, to expand, to grow, to spread one’s message, company or brand worldwide, I think of this lesson from my father…and this in turn reminds me of one of my mother’s greatest pieces of advice.

She had built an extraordinary career over the years and was often asked to sit on panels about women, career, life and success. But when people asked how she got to where she was, what her goals and her plan had been, she always
responded with this:

“I never had a 5-year plan. I always just did what was next. And I did it as best I could.”

And what an extraordinary way to live.

So cheers to doing what’s next and to doing it as best one can. And cheers to recognizing that the though the accomplishment might be small, the satisfaction may be great—a master work of art in and of itself.