I'm sitting in a quiet room at the Millcroft Inn,

a peaceful little place,

hidden back among the pine trees

about one hour out of Toronto.

It's just past noon,

in late July, and I'm listening to the sounds

of a life or death struggle going on just a few feet away.

There's a small fly burning out the last

of its short life's energies

in a futile attempt to fly through the glass

of the window pane.

The whining wings tell the poignant story

of the fly's strategy, try harder.

But it's not working.

The frenzied effort offers no hope for survival.

Ironically, the struggle is part of the trap.

It's impossible for the fly to try hard enough

to succeed at breaking through the glass.

Nevertheless, this little insect has staked its life

on reaching its goal through raw effort and determination.

The fly is doomed.

It will die there on the windowsill.

Now, across the room,

just 10 steps away, the door is open.

10 seconds of flying time

and this small insect could reach

the outside world it seeks.

With only a fraction of the effort now being wasted,

it would be free of its self-imposed trap.

The breakthrough possibility is there.

And it would be so easy.

Why doesn't the fly try another approach?

Something dramatically different.

How did it get so locked in

on the idea that this particular route

and determined effort offer the most promise for success?

What logic is there in continuing until death

to seek a breakthrough is more of the same.

No doubt the approach makes sense to the fly.

Regrettably, it's an idea that will kill.

Trying harder isn't necessarily the solution

to achieving more.

It may not offer any real promise

for getting what you want out of life.

Sometimes, in fact, it's a big part of the problem.

If you stake your hopes for a breakthrough

on trying harder than ever,

you may kill your chances for success.

It's such a phenomenal story.

And then I tell 'em,

you know, that's only one page.

There's 35 pages in here

and each page tells a different deal.