I make decisions fast. Always have.
Whether it was leading a police department or choosing a direction in my personal life, I don’t stew on things for long. I gather the facts, trust my instincts, and move. I’m not reckless—just allergic to paralysis.
I realized this about myself when I worked for people who couldn’t decide their way out of a paper bag. I’d pitch a solution or seek guidance, it would “go up the chain,” and then… silence. Days. Weeks. Months. I’d check in only to hear, “It’s on the chief’s desk awaiting review.”
Perfect. Because apparently, the universe stops until Monday morning’s command staff meeting.
Look, I get it. Bureaucracy, process, red tape—all that jazz. But most of the time, what stalls progress isn’t the system. It’s people. People who confuse caution with competence.
As a middle manager, that drove me insane. I had a team waiting on answers, a community demanding results, and yet I was stuck in limbo — responsible for outcomes but powerless to act. Every time I asked for a decision, it got buried under layers of “review” and “consideration.” The message was clear: initiative was admirable, but permission was sacred. And that’s how innovation dies — not with a loud “no,” but with quiet indifference.
When I became Chief, I swore not to let decisions die on my desk. The “Monday-only” rule? Gone. My standing order: if it needs a decision, pop into my office. We’ll hash it out today. Waiting weeks for something that can be solved in minutes is a form of leadership malpractice.
That doesn’t mean every decision should be made in isolation. Some choices require getting the right people in the room—especially when they’re the ones who will have to carry out or live with the outcome. Those perspectives matter. So don’t misunderstand me: there’s a difference between decisiveness and dictatorship. Some calls can (and should) be made by a committee of one, while others deserve thoughtful, deliberate input and data collection. But even those don’t have to crawl at a snail’s pace. You can speed up collaboration too. Call the meeting. Bring the right minds to the table. Hash it out. Then make the decision and move. Stop making people wait while you “think about it.” That’s not strategy—it’s stagnation.
I worked for two mayors who showed me both sides of the decision-making coin.
The first was brilliant but slow—a deep thinker who needed to confer with his inner circle before acting. Knowing this, I’d plant seeds early and prepare myself for the long, painful wait. For someone like me, it was agony.
Then came the next mayor. My first week, I told him I planned to fire a civilian employee for multiple incidents of misconduct—missed events, showing up drunk, and slurred phone calls. I had receipts. He nodded, took it in, and I left his office at 8 a.m.
By 4 p.m., he called: “Did you fire him yet?”
I laughed out loud. “You don’t want to talk to legal? Or your chief of staff?”
He said, “Why would I? You already gave me everything I need.”
And just like that, I knew I’d found my people. No bullshit. No paralysis. Just data, trust, and execution.
That’s how I live my personal life too.
When I’m faced with a choice—buying a car, switching careers, applying for a new role—I assess the risk, ask what’s the worst that could happen, and act. Applying for the Superintendant job in Chicago? Sure. The worst case? I’d get it. (And I’d deal with that later.)
When I went back to school for my second master’s degree, people said I was insane. I’d just become Chief. I didn’t dwell on the workload. I just knew it would make me better at my job. So I enrolled, showed up, and did the work. Decision made. Let’s fucking go.
Now, I know some of you are getting hives reading this. You’re the “I need more time to think” people. And that’s fine—until thinking becomes hiding.
Because here is your truth bomb: you’re not waiting for clarity; you’re waiting for certainty. And that’s never coming.
James Clear talks about decisions in three categories—hats, haircuts, and tattoos—and I couldn’t agree more.
Here’s my take:
Most decisions are like hats. You try one on, and if it doesn’t fit, you swap it out. Low risk. Move fast.
Some are like haircuts. You might regret it for a bit, but it’ll grow back. Try something new anyway.
A few are like tattoos. Permanent. They deserve more thought—but there are far fewer of those than people think.
I should also confess that I’ve moved too fast before. My confidence in deciding quickly has bitten me in the ass more than once. I’ve jumped into partnerships, collaborations, and “great opportunities” that turned out to be… not so great. I’ve trusted people who overpromised and underdelivered. I’ve signed deals based on enthusiasm instead of due diligence. In hindsight, I can see the warning signs I bulldozed right past because I just wanted to go.
But here’s the thing: I didn’t lose everything. I didn’t invest my life savings or torch my reputation. What I did gain was experience—the kind you only get by being in the arena. I learned who to trust, what questions to ask, and how to vet better next time. I couldn’t have known it was a bad deal when I went into it, because that’s the point of life lessons: they’re revealed after the decision, not before.
That’s why I believe in failing fast. If something’s not working, cut bait, pivot, adjust. Don’t drag a bad idea behind you like roadkill, hoping it magically comes back to life. The faster you recognize the miss, the quicker you can redirect your energy into something that actually works. People waste years trying to resuscitate the wrong thing out of ego or fear of what others will think. I’ve learned to look failure in the face, take the lesson, and move on before it calcifies into regret. If you’re going to fall, do it fast—and make sure you fall forward.
Honestly, very few choices are irreversible. You can get divorced. Sell the house you overbought. Drop the degree that’s draining you. Change jobs. Start over. It might sting. It might cost you. But you’re not cemented in place unless you decide to be.
So stop waiting for perfect timing, for the data to align, for the fear to fade. That day won’t come.
You’re not stuck because life trapped you.
You’re stuck because you’re refusing to move.
Disrupt your own inertia.
Decide. Execute. Adjust. Repeat.
Because indecision isn’t safety—it’s slow death.
