My daughter earned a score of 102 out of 100 on her most recent college geology test; the next-best score was a full ten points lower.

Annalisa’s never been particularly fond of science or mathematics—and I believe she would agree that’s a significant understatement.

As a consequence, this past winter, just before her second semester as a sophomore at the local college she chose to attend, she was finally forced to sign up to take the required second science course she’s been dreading since she matriculated there. There was no getting around it; two science courses is a prerequisite at every university she is considering for her continued studies.

She wasn’t happy. Her remaining choices seemed dismal and limited to chemistry and physics and the like—she had already taken the reasonably palatable physical anthropology which counted as a biological science.

She settled on physical geology after I told her that the tectonic plate theory was just coming into public awareness about the time I moved to San Francisco—America’s Earthquake Capital—from Washington, DC in the early 1970s. Being originally from that great sandbar of the East, Long Island, NY, where the land “moves” generally as the result of ocean wave action and much more gently, I found the power of earthquakes absolutely fascinating—and the tectonic plate theory was its cutting edge. At the time, I read and watched everything I could find, which wasn’t a lot.

Then life happened.

Since I assumed there had been some kind of update over the last 35 years, I told her I would be delighted to get my own copy of the textbook and read along with her. We could set up regular study times together. She jumped at it and we started in early February.

Each week we both read each assignment in the text, which is actually quite good; she attends the lectures; and we study “together” one night, usually Tuesday—more if need be.

Let me explain what I mean when I say “study together.”

Annalisa decided to approach the learning of this somewhat complex discipline by writing out the answers to a list of questions that capture the essentials, which her professor prepares for each chapter’s subject matter. Those questions are based partially on the text and partially on his lectures, which vary somewhat from each other.

We work out the answers together, although oftentimes she’s gotten a head-start on them before our study sessions. (Honestly folks, these aren’t easy—many times we’ve had to leave a question unanswered until Annalisa can talk to her professor during his office hours.)

Before the exams, she studies the questions and answers she’s put together. While she’s doing that, I’m usually reading—if not getting a head start on the next geology chapter, then something else I might have brought along.

When she’s ready, I read her the questions and she answers them—verbally mostly, but if the question calls for a diagram, she draws and labels it. We discuss any response that’s not accurate or that needs further clarification. She decides when we move on.

Then, she goes in and takes her exam.

One more thing: We know “stuff” is going to come up in the form of calendar conflicts—our lives are too full and complex to expect otherwise—so we have a rule: We never cancel a study session; rather, we re-schedule it to another date—sometimes sooner, sometimes later, oftentimes better.

Foundational to all of this is a simple mechanism: the Practice. (A Practice is a disciplined set of activities calculated to lead to an expected result.)

Her “expected result” was to do as well as she could in this likely last-in-a-lifetime science class with the least amount of stress possible.

As I say, though, Practices make perfect . . . and then some.

The actual result? As of right now with not much of the semester left to go, she has a solid “A.” She has the only “A.” She’s had the only “A” since the first exam months ago.

Like a big “thank you” gift from Divine Providence, the result of practicing her geology Practice is outstripping any vision she might have had of her “best-expected outcome.” (Indeed, it’s become almost comical: Annalisa comes home nearly every week with another hysterical story about her astonishing role as “geology queen.”)

I only wish I could have seen the look on her professor’s face when he casually asked her what her major is.

It’s English.

You may be wondering what relevance that story about my daughter and her curriculum crisis has to do with you and the “real” crises you have to deal with at home and at work.

I’m not willing to run the risk of you missing the point, simply because I’m assuming you got it, so pardon me if I explain a bit further. (And the reason I’m not willing to run that risk is that getting this point is key to learning how to change any condition in your life—at home or at work. Any condition. Without it, you render yourself powerless to change much of anything.)

Okay, Ric, so what is the point?

Simply this: You have the power to change any situation—including your Life Balance Equation—by applying intention and attention to making it change. That’s it. That’s all.

“Well, how exactly does one do that?” you might ask.

Consider this: another way of saying “applying intention and attention” is “practice,” not as in “to practice,” but as in “a Practice.”

Here are three easy steps to developing a Practice to deal with any situation:

Step 1: Stop focusing on what’s wrong with the situation.
(In this “everyone-on-the-planet-now-knows-’The Secret’” world, do I really have to explain why? If you don’t know what this is, click here: THE SECRET.)