Some folks aren’t disorganized and lacking focus, they’re misorganized and focusing in places that aren’t helpful.

It’s not the absence of one’s capability, it’s the result.

When I come home from an evening run, our dog eagerly sniffs my shoes and the bottom of my pants — nearly every square inch. He does so with an eagerness that begs, “Where have you been??? What have you seen? I want to know every detail.”

It’s one of my favorite conversations.

Enthusiastic curiosity — where you encounter it, there is abundant life.

You can figure out the magic. You can deconstruct a trick. All the illusions can be stripped away. And for sure, it can be fun to figure things out.

But there’s a richness to life when we unfetter our imagination. When we buy in. When we allow ourselves to wander and to dream.

In one seat, a person attends to the seams, the strings, the puppeteers, and the stage hands. In another seat, a person is transported through lighting, storytelling, and their own imagination.

Who’s better off? The skeptic? Or the one who embraces the magic?

The spotlight is deceiving. From the audience’s perspective, everything is illuminated. The limelight offers supreme clarity.

But when you’re the one in the spotlight, the brighter it is, the less you can see. The light has a blinding effect while the the audience (with their clear view) is obscured in darkness.

Or consider playing catch. When the sun is directly behind one person, they have clear sight of the target. But the person trying to catch will have trouble because of the glare. A dropped pass, ironically, is visible to everyone except the one who needs to catch it.

We don’t always see what others see — even when we’re looking in the same direction, but especially when we’re looking at each other. Spotlights (real or figurative) make it even more complex.

In sports, it’s the final score that counts. Brilliant shots during the game aren’t fully satisfying unless you end up winning.

But life is different. Focusing on the final score — whatever that might mean — is a fool’s errand.

The brilliant shots are themselves the win. When we choose wisely, when we act kindly, when we create and experience beauty … these constitute a good life. It’s not some total measured against the median. It’s each moment well-lived.

Love is not always convenient.

But love doesn’t mind inconvenience.

Actually, love has a way of making inconvenience seem like nothing at all.

Because love naturally reorganizes our priorities.

When we act in service of what we love — and who we love — convenience is not part of the calculus.

In doing some online research, I noticed my own impatience. Finding relevant websites, I gravitated to the more concise content. And of course, concise is not necessarily complete.

How often do we take this stance? I want to understand this concept … but only if it can be explained in about thirty seconds. I want to learn about this issue … but only if it’s presented in a bulleted list. I want to see how this works … but only if there’s a short video to watch.

What happens when we learn patiently? What happens when we give a subject time? Hours? Days? Weeks? To consume and digest slowly. To sit with the complexity. To stay until understanding becomes a partner.

Quick searches and quick answers are everywhere. But there’s a lot more to learn when we dig deep.

At best, we are short-sighted stones; we see only the first few ripples.

Much of our effect will be well beyond our sight.

We can only act and observe, trust and allow.

The ripples were never ours to control anyway.

People who are good at hiding their lack of knowledge tend to use that skill indefinitely.

People who are comfortable revealing their ignorance — who are eager to learn and not afraid to show it — tend not to stay ignorant for long.

Don’t act like you know; reveal that you don’t.

It’s not always the case, but sometimes, someone younger, less experienced, and less knowledgeable than you has excellent advice worth taking.

Keep your ears open and your heart receptive.

Your coffee or tea might be a morning staple — something that kicks off your day and sustains you.

Perhaps you also enjoy a bit of eggs, or oatmeal, or fruit.

But mixed all together, drinks included, these things aren’t as appealing.

Some things are better separated out.

Work and play. Creativity and chores. Engagement and reflection. In some cases, disparate activities exist synchronously and in harmony. But not always.

Sometimes building out and protecting space for just one of these is what’s needed.

Focused and separate, all on its own … for the benefit of the whole.

Though they’re generous in showing up, good ideas will often not linger if they’re ignored. Like a party guest who moves on to find a more welcoming host, ideas can leave as abruptly and surprisingly as they arrive.

Be a good host. When good ideas cross the threshold, entertain them.

Some things — a high-end baseball glove for example — have a break-in period. Straight from the factory, they’re stiff and barely functional. But after time and a lot of use, they’re form-fit. Even better than an inferior product that’s comfortable from the start.

Other things don’t require breaking in. A kitchen sink is supposed to work as soon as it’s installed. Software should be functional right away.

The tricky thing, at times, is managing our patience when we’re not sure if we’re dealing with a break-in period, or if something’s just not a good fit. Think: relationships, job placements, neighborhoods, new hobbies.

The question becomes, “Do I need to be patient or is this situation hopelessly flawed?”

Because some perfect fits aren’t perfect from the start.

I watched a delightful video where a performer moved in such a way that her umbrella looked like it was enchanted, trying to escape her grasp.

Curious, I watched again in slow motion.

Part of the sleight of hand was this: wherever the performer looked, the viewer looked there too. And attention was always given to the hand that was still, not the hand that was in motion manipulating the umbrella. The performer was directing the viewer where to look by modeling it herself.

This all happened seamlessly, naturally, and unconsciously. It can happen this way in daily life, too.

We can easily become focused on where other people are looking. Perhaps it’s some kind of ancient wisdom. Attending to the same oncoming stampede or the same ripe figs — this seems like useful hard-wiring.

But these days, there are a lot more things to capture our attention than animals and fruits.

The caution is this: not all spotlight operators are the same. Not all of them have our best interest. Not everything in the limelight is worthy of our attention. And when we’re not careful, we forget our ability — even our responsibility — to direct our own gaze.

When we pick the fruit, we get an immediate sense of our work’s value. This is my labor and this is my harvest. It’s satisfying.

On the other hand, planting seeds offers no such quick reward. Instead, there’s often a chasm between the initial efforts and when we begin to see results.

The planting and tending is a slog. But we need to remember that without that long, steadfast work of growing, there’s no harvest to enjoy.

If you got what you wanted, now you have work to do.

And if you didn’t get what you wanted, now you have work to do.

Because either way, we’re always going to have work to do.

That work begins today.

People make a big deal out of little things all the time.

But sometimes, a little thing is indeed a big deal.

My daughter voted for the first time yesterday. She was excited and she was proud. At the polling place, the volunteers made a big deal of it, congratulating her on participating in democracy. It was smiles all around.

Sometimes milestones are more like mile-pebbles, but they’re just as worthy of celebration.

Almost always, the choices we have are imperfect. It’s rare that we have many terrible options and one that’s ideal.

Most often, the selection is flawed.

We choose based on strengths, however — since strengths and weaknesses are packaged together — we simultaneously choose shortcomings.

There’s always a menu. There are always choices.

Rarely are either perfect.

“Watch this!” can be the phrase that precedes some kind of physical feat. (Occasionally it becomes the last words before a spectacular fail.)

The phrase creates a useful posture. A moment of performance. A generous tension.

“Here. I’m about to do something. Witness it.”
“Watch: this is a skill I’ve developed.”
“Pay attention. This is for you.”

It’s the prompt. It’s our deep breath before acting in the world.

Whether we say the words or not, we need to regularly place ourselves in “watch this” situations to draw out the fullness of our creative nature.

I was aghast the first time I saw my sister-in-law brew coffee.

I’ve always appreciated the exactitude of measuring grounds and water.

When she made a pot, she filled the water reservoir, poured a pile of grounds into the filter, and eyeballed it saying, “Ehhhh, that should be good.” Seeing my expression she replied, “What? That’s how I always do it.”

And the thing is, it was a great pot of coffee.

It was an excellent lesson. For some things, there’s a wide margin of right ways to achieve great results.

H/T Meg