Part Three of the Planning as Invitation series — stories that trace how structure evolved from instinct to intention to care.
I have always loved puzzles, especially the numerical ones. Math made sense to me. It was logical, solvable, and deeply satisfying. I was good at it, often working ahead of the class. So when I was not placed in the advanced math track in eighth grade, my dad intervened. He enrolled me in a community college algebra course. And while he was at it, he said, “Why not also take a programming class?”
That is how I met Walt Coole.
Walt was not just a professor. He was a presence. With his jazz-lounge posture, kind eyes, loose slacks, and soft-spoken confidence, he looked like he had wandered out of a smoky 1960s club and into a fluorescent-lit computer lab. He taught me to code in GW-BASIC, but more than that, he made technology feel approachable. He made it human. And somehow, cool.
Falling in Love with Structure
Somewhere between debugging loops and figuring out how programs flowed, I began to notice other patterns. Without realizing it, I was already doing what would become a lifelong instinct: turning ambiguity into structure. I liked pulling vague or scattered information into a clear, usable framework.
Not long after, I discovered Quattro Pro, one of the early spreadsheet programs that came bundled with our home computer. It was love at first formula. Suddenly, this was not about math; it was about mapping possibilities. I could organize complexity, visualize outcomes, and see the story that numbers were telling.
Walt Coole gave me the confidence to explore. Quattro Pro gave me the tools to go further. Even though I could not have articulated it at the time, I was developing the same habit I lean on now in every part of my life: turning ambiguity into structure.
A Spreadsheet, a Family Dinner, and a Lot of Corn
Years later, that instinct would resurface in very different circumstances.
In 2016, my family gathered in Washington State to celebrate my parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary. Each of my sisters wanted to plan a meal, and at some point, someone had what seemed like a brilliant idea: “Let’s all plan one meal together.” Naturally, it went sideways.
I offered a shared Google spreadsheet. “Just update it with what you are bringing,” I said. Simple, right?
Except for the corn.
My youngest sister wanted to bring fresh corn. She told someone — at least, she thought she did — but she never updated the spreadsheet. My middle sister, trying to be helpful, picked some up from a nearby farm stand. And when the moment came, the two of them started bickering about who had said what.
Eventually, one of them turned to me and said, “Didn’t I tell you?”
I did not raise my voice. I just asked, “Did you put it in the spreadsheet?”
The whole room burst out laughing.
Why Turning Ambiguity into Structure Matters
That line has become my personal mantra: if it is not in the spreadsheet, it did not happen.
A spreadsheet is not about micromanagement. It is about creating a shared reality. It is a place where ambiguity does not get to rule the room.
Walt Coole taught me how to think in systems. Quattro Pro taught me how to build them. But the corn incident taught me why they matter. Shared understanding does not just happen. It has to be built. And sometimes, the kindest thing you can do for a group of people is to create a place where everyone can see what is true.
Next in this series: Planning with Heart.