The Budget & Forecast Boneyard

Next to business, my enduring fascination has been aviation. From a young age, I was captivated by the simple question of how something so heavy could leave the ground and stay there. Even today, I could spend an entire day at an airport without losing interest. No two takeoffs or landings are quite the same, and there is something humbling about looking down at the earth from 30,000 feet and being reminded how small we really are.

My older brother Gerry and I both studied aviation electronics at Purdue University. Gerry took what he learned and built a remarkable career placing orbital devices into space. I chose a different runway and went into business. Still, during my time in aviation, I learned an important lesson: airplanes don’t fly by accident. Every pound, every system, every calculation matters. Lift is not magic—it is the result of thoughtful design, discipline, and constant attention.

Over time, commercial aviation has evolved. New aircraft are designed, old ones are retired, configurations change, and fuel efficiency improves. Eventually, even the most reliable airplanes outlive their usefulness for the airlines that once depended on them. Some are sold or repurposed, but many are flown to the desert and parked in vast airplane boneyards. A few will return to service. Most will be used for parts, quietly supporting the aircraft that are still flying.

I’ve seen something very similar over the course of my career in finance and accounting.

I’ve prepared more budgets and forecasts than I can count. The tools and models have changed over the years, each promising to be better than the last. What hasn’t changed is how often budgets are built in isolation. It has always puzzled me, perhaps frustrated me, that the accounting department is so often left to create the budget on its own. One has to wonder where the sales team is in all of this. Shouldn’t they have something to say about where revenue will come from and who will be buying?

Instead, the numbers are often derived by taking last year’s results, averaging a few prior years, and adding a hopeful percentage for growth. It feels tidy. It’s also frequently disconnected from reality. When that happens, the budget may look impressive, but it is already taxiing toward the boneyard.

A budget prepared without broad participation rarely stays useful for long. Capital expenditures get missed because engineering was never asked. Staffing assumptions fall apart because operations was not consulted. Before long, the document sits on a shelf—well-intentioned, nicely formatted, and ignored.

Some companies choose not to budget at all. I’ve always been curious about that decision. Is the process too cumbersome? Is there a belief that a budget won’t add value? Or is there a quiet concern that it might expose uncomfortable truths about how the business is really performing? Hope, after all, is not a strategy—no matter how appealing it may be.

A thoughtful budget doesn’t guarantee success, but it does provide direction. It keeps the organization oriented and often reveals opportunities that might otherwise be missed. Walk into an office and find drawers full of old budgets no one can explain, and you’ll know exactly where they belong—in the financial equivalent of an airplane boneyard.

On the other hand, there is something reassuring about hearing a CEO or CFO say, “We’re on track to meet or exceed our budget.” That simple statement signals discipline, shared ownership, and someone firmly at the controls.

And in both aviation and business, that’s usually what keeps you safely in the air.