Making the Complex Simple

If I had a superpower....

I don’t have any superpowers. I never have been one on the far right side of any spectrum. Academically … adequate. Athletically … adequate. Personality … adequate. (No comment.) Professional skill … adequate. Emotional intelligence … adequate. (So says Joyce.)

But, IF I had a superpower—and I’m not claiming that I do, and not supposing that I do, and not presuming that I do (is that enough equivocating?) — BUT, IF I DID, it would be this: Making the complex simple.

That’s it. That’s what I’m pretty good at. I can distill a hundred facts into one or two that summarize the whole thing. I can zoom out well. I can fly up to 30,000 feet and see the broader picture.

Maybe it’s because I have a simple mind. Okay, that’s fair.

But to me, it feels natural. It’s just how my brain works. I get fuzzy when too many details are thrown my way and I want to order them or prioritize them or summarize them. I can usually identify what is most important which allows me to breaststroke through the muck and mud to find the bright and shining crystal. I don’t know how. I just can.

In my day job, I sell the complex. I sell something that has a hundred moving parts. It’s the kind of thing, when you’re trying to explain it, in which there are a dozen paths to the weeds of complexity. The paths call out to me, beckoning me to come into their tall grasses, calling out my name, using the name of my youth … “Kenny, come over here … it’s cool in the weeds … they rustle in the wind … they’re like fresh grass.”

But I say no. I ignore their siren call.

I sell IRS-governed retirement plans. It’s the sister plan to the 401(k), and it’s called a Cash Balance Pension Plan. In our retirement system there are only two families of plans and they are 401(k) and Cash Balance.

The plan, like all retirement plans in our country, is overseen by the IRS. And by overseen, I mean the IRS requires a dozen tests for the plan to be deemed compliant. Nondiscrimination is the primary one.

When I came into the retirement-savings industry, after serving in the Christian ministry, the retirement firm I worked for produced materials that were mind-numbing and eye-blurring. They produced spreadsheets with numerous columns and rows. Even to the pension-informed, they were glaze-inducing and sleep-enhancing.

I said, ‘no.’ I said, ‘cut.’ I said, ‘we need white space.’

At the time, Yahoo had about 100 items on their search page in addition to the search bare. When you opened it you were peppered with ads and options.

Google, in the other hand, had two items. One, a blank search box in which you type your search. And two, some random question, “Do you feel lucky today?” What the heck was that about?

Anyway, guess which company won out? Guess which company is now a verb? “Google it,” we say.

Largely, I would say, because of simplicity.

At my retirement firm I argued, “We need to be Google.”

And that’s who we emulated. We developed the cleanest, simplest, most white-space-friendly Plan Illustration on the market. It led to Dan, my boss, and I writing a best-selling book in the space, “Beyond the 401(k)”. (A nice, clean title.) We co-founded a national Cash Balance Coach program that is the best in its class. And it led to Dan’s company in 2018 for a handsome sum.

We made the complex simple. And people beat a path to our door.

Now that has become my new goal in life. I want to become a simplician. Not a simpleton … although I know that’s what a lot of you read. No, a simplician. One who makes the complicated accessible. I want to do it in my writing. And I want to continue to do it in my profession.

And I have a good model. Jesus was the ultimate simplician. He wasn’t afraid to distill. He taught with everyday stories and easy-to-understand but rich-with-meaning parables. He pointed to nature for analogies. He used common situations to teach, like running out of wine at a wedding. He was, in my mind, the ultimate simplician.

Then to solidify his claim to simplicity fame, he gave a solid, discrete answer to this fantastic question: “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”

Do you know what he could have done with that question? He could have hedged and stammered and hemmed and hawed. He could have squirmed, not wanting to reduce any commands or words or jots or tittles in the Bible. “No … all the commands are important,” he could have said.

The Pharisees of his day would have said that. That’s how they lived … straining gnats but swallowing camels.

But so would many preachers today. So would many who have made the Bible their profession. They love to weave a web of complexity around God’s dealings with man, maybe to make themselves feel smart, claiming a remote insight here or an unusual angle there.

But no. Jesus summarized. He prioritized. He rated. He took the bold stance to sift through the 500,000 words in the Torah/Old Testament, the roughly 600 separate commands, the approximately 10,000 words included in those 600 commands, and boil it down to two commands with 24 words.

Two commands inside of 24 words. The most important 24 words in all the text.

And here’s his reply: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

Are you kidding me? That is perfect. That captures everything about the spiritual life. All the Law and Prophets … all of them … all they said and did … hang on these two commands: Love God and love your neighbor.

Ahhh, the satisfaction of simplicity. Life is good when things are clear.