So Adam got on the lift again. On the way back up, he glanced down at a different trail, and he spotted something silver gleaming in the snow. "That's it," he thought. Once off the lift, he skied anxiously down toward the silver speck. When he reached it, he pulled it out of the snow. And there in his hand was a foil gum wrapper.

Adam's head dropped. And when it did, his eye caught something even tinier in the snow, about a foot away from where the gum wrapper had been. He reached down and pulled Dan's buried watch out of the snow. (Yes, it was still ticking.)

I learned something when Dan told me that story, and I wanted to share it. I have to admit that if it had been me, the idea of looking for the watch would have been a nonstarter. I would have dismissed it out of hand as hopelessly futile and suggested that we get some hot chocolate as consolation and call it a day.

So yeah, Dan had two things working against him that day. But he had at least one thing going for him: He had a really good friend who refused to acquiesce to the notion of futility.

That refusal serves as a remarkable lesson for all of us, and it occurs to me that nowhere is it more valuable than in the IT profession. I've been a witness to the work you do long enough to know that much of what you're called upon to accomplish has such a high degree of difficulty that the prospect of a successful outcome must at times seem entirely unrealistic. And at times I've witnessed personal and organizational paralysis as a result. It's not a pretty sight.