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We've all heard: "Live each day like it was your last." But, for some reason, we never associate this idea with our lives at work. Recently at LessConference, Cammeron Moll recounted a great story about a husband and wife couple who owned a design agency (if you know the original source of the story, please share in the comments).

One day, the husband died. It was sudden and unexpected. The wife was grieving her husband, she walked into his office and she started to clear off his desk. Sitting on top of the desk was a collection of all his recent works. The work left on his desk was some of the best he'd ever created. He'd died at the peak of his creative work. She found comfort in the fact that when he died, he was still as passionate, and creative about his work as the day they first met. She could see her husband in the legacy of his work. She knew he would be proud of the work he left behind for them to discover.

If you were to die suddenly, what would be your legacy? As you leave your office, ask yourself, what did you leave on your desk today? Is it something you'd be proud of?

Martin Heidegger, the 20th century german philosopher, theorized that people relate to tools differently than they relate to other types of objects. He called this the Ready-to-Hand principle.

Ready-to-Hand is a term he invented to describe what happens when people become one with their tools. His insight was that people don't notice their tools while using them. Instead, they are focused on the desired outcome. Imagine a person driving their car on the highway. The driver isn't thinking about his car -- he's thinking about how to get to Mom's house in Decatur. He's not focused on his tool. He's focused on his task.

Since a web application is a type of tool, it adheres to the same principles Heiddeger described for physical tools. When using a web application it should be Ready-to-Hand. It's use should feel as natural as waving your arm. While this sounds simple, the reality is a bit more complex. The psychological connection we have with our tools is very fragile. If something doesn't respond as expected, then the connection breaks.

When this happens, we react like a carpenter with a suddenly broken hammer. Curse words fly, and we lose focus on our task. The tool is no longer a tool, it's an object that has to be fixed. The reason people hate slow applications is because of their lack of responsiveness (AKA lag). Our mind is awaiting a timely response that never comes. We can't become one with our tool.

And while speed is a common cause of frustration, the Ready-at-Hand principle really applies to the entire user experience. An otherwise perfect user experience can be ruined with a single flaw. If a hammer slips out of your hand, or a web application has a confusing navigation scheme, then you lose focus on the task at hand. You suddenly become acutely aware that the tool isn't really a part of you. The result is pure frustration for the user.

Last night's NCAA basketball championship was a classic sports event. It had all the necessary ingredients. A big stage. A real-life match up of David vs. Goliath. A sports powerhouse against an up & coming private school. It was the film hoosiers come to life (minus the fact the underdog lost on the final shot).

While I was rooting for Duke, having been born and raised in North Carolina during the 1990's, almost everyone else was rooting for Butler. The reason is simple. Butler was the underdog, and humans have an innate love of the underdog.

Psychologists call it the underdog effect. They refer to is as the activation of the underdog schema. This occurs whenever we see a disadvantaged opponent. We root for the gazelle when it's chased by lions. Put simply, we root for anyone attempting to accomplish a difficult task in the face of low odds.

But why do humans have an underdog schema? The answer is two-fold. The first reason is: we strive to be unique, and who we root for sends a signal to the rest of the world. If the obvious choice is Duke, then it's best to root for Butler. After all, there's nothing really at stake in fandom. So the need to be different makes us more likely to root against the "popular" choice.

The second reason is that humans are naturally empathetic. It's a capability that allows us to live effectively as a social animal. Compassion is hard-wired into humanity. And empathy allows us to put ourselves in the shoes of the underdog. We identify with them, and seek to translate their accomplishments to our own. If David can beat Goliath, than I too can overcome impossible odds.

But, the underdog effect isn't limited to sports. We root for companies just like we root for teams. Apple, Dyson, Method, Virgin Airlines, Mini, etc. These brands are effective because they position themselves as challengers, not leaders. Choosing a product from one of these companies tells the world that you're not like everyone else (despite the fact 300,000 other people have the exact same iPad).

While people love underdogs, they never choose them in the face of their own self-interest. You never take a mortgage out with a struggling bank, and you never buy a house in a half-built community.

So how do the successful underdogs do it? They succeed because they create products that are superior when viewed through their particular worldview. Is Method's hand soap better than Dial? It's more expensive, but you probably wouldn't consider it better unless you have the same worldview as they do (sustainability=good & chemicals=bad).

Underdog companies don't compete on features. They compete by aligning with your worldview and creating products that fit your personal definition of a better product.

Most people think of their performance curve as a shark fin. They believe they do excellent work most of the time, average work sometimes and substandard work very occasionally.

However, this is a classic case of illusory superiority bias in action (it's the same reason 75% of people rate themselves as above average drivers).

The reality is: your performance curve is much more likely to resemble a bell curve than a shark fin.

But, this doesn't mean you can't improve. You can. Through deliberate practice (challenging yourself and gathering feedback), you can move the bell curve to the right. You're essentially changing the frame of reference that you use to rate yourself. By trying to make sure each subsequent performance is better than the last performance, you can slowly move the bell curve.

For example, you may think you're a great basketball player. But, compared to the average player in the NBA you're terrible. On their worst day they're still exponentially better than you are on your best day. The same holds for golf, marketing strategy or design.

You have to compare yourself to people that are better than you. This requires a humility that some people can't stomach. It's hard to admit that you're not as good as you think you are (or as good as you pretend to be). But, that's the only way you can move the bell curve to the right.

You know, Hitler wanted to be an artist. At eighteen he took his inheritance, seven hundred kronen, and moved to Vienna to live and study. He applied to the Academy of Fine Arts and later to the School of Architecture.

Ever see one of his paintings? Neither have I. Resistance beat him. Call it overstatement, but I'll say it anyway: it was easier for Hitler to start World War II than it was for him to face a blank square of canvas.

-Steven Pressfield, The War of Art