When you are still and quiet, what do you know to be true?

If you’re uncertain, it may be the right time to find space to be still and quiet ...

... and to listen to the noise in your head, and the truth in your heart.

As best I can recall, I share this story I once heard someone tell about his own family:

My younger sister never had trouble finding love. She seemed to find connection with ease.

But my older sister always had trouble dating. Relationships were infrequent and they just didn’t seem to last.

One day, my grandfather offered his opinion. Speaking to my older sister, he said, “You know what your problem is? It’s the way you say, ‘Really.’”

Stunned, my sister waited for an explanation.

“You see, when someone tells you something, you lean back in your seat, you cross your arms, and you say — with a tone of doubt — ‘Really?’

“Your younger sister, on the other hand, leans forward with curiosity — not naivete, but genuine interest — and with fascination, she says, ‘Really!’

“And that — that makes all the difference.”

* * *

How do we approach what’s new? How do we navigate surprise? And what do we communicate when we say, “Really?”

You don’t find balance by standing completely still; you find it by moving.

Take riding a bike, for example. One doesn’t sit, wait for balance, and then begin pedaling. The first step is to push off. To launch. To go.

The balance comes soon after ... and continues through subtle corrections as you go.

If you’re waiting to be balanced in order to begin, you may be stuck in the same place for a long time.

They’re eating treats and napping in dog heaven now, but if you’d have walked these sweet animals on the sidewalks of my borough, you’d have had a fun challenge.

Rosie, the energetic mixed breed, always wanted to run ahead.

Sammy, the toy poodle, would want to sniff, explore, and mark.

A walk entailed a leash in each hand, arms outstretched, and two dogs with two different goals in mind. To serve them both was to serve neither one fully.

A better situation was when two of us walked the dogs separately. Rosie was happy. Sammy was happy.

It’s worth considering how we meet the needs of those we seek to serve. “One size fits all” may actually be “one size doesn’t really fit anyone all that well.”

Sometimes, two dogs need two walkers.

When you’re sitting on a bench, and you see someone who needs a seat, do you make room?

Or do you subtly spread out, looking a little larger ... a little wider. Silently communicating, “No space here for you.”

Some people like to protect the space they’ve claimed for themselves. Others are happy to scoot in: “Please. Come sit. There’s room.”

This dynamic happens wherever benches are found ... but it also happens in social, academic, and professional circles.

There are some who insist, “We’re full. No room for you.” And others who are more than willing to welcome newcomers.

Whether there’s a bench involved or not, making room for others is not always the comfortable thing to do, but it’s often the right thing to do.

When clay is too cold, it’s not malleable. It can be stiff, or brittle, and unpleasant to handle. In order for it to be workable, it has to warm up.

Likewise, when we’re too cold in our personal interactions, we create an unworkable rigidity.

A little bit of warmth, and we become flexible. Responsive. Open to change.

That warmth — the kind that’s born of empathy, generosity, and sincerity — it opens the door to possibility.

“I can take it.”

This is a healthy approach to handling criticism.

The important question that follows — which we don’t always consider — is this:

Where are you going to put it?

If you hear a dripping sound and you look up to see a wet stain on the ceiling, it’s natural to think there’s a leak in the room above.

Possible, but not a guarantee.

Water travels. Water entering a roof on one side of a building may travel down the interior of the walls and across the spaces between floor and ceiling before dripping into a room. A leak on the east side may turn into a drip on the north side.

Lots of problems are like this; the source isn’t what we immediately see, and it’s not even on the other side of what’s in front of us.

Sometimes problems have distant sources. That’s useful to remember whether we’re considering a water ring on the ceiling ... or a power outage, or a drought in the American west, or a manager in the next office.

To find the source, we sometimes have to look far and deep.

Historical figures — whether heroic or hateful — are often remembered by only a few moments or by a single, defining act.

For the rest of us, we’re remembered by countless moments — big and small, clear and foggy — all woven together in the memories of our loved ones.

Part of our call — as humans — is to witness. To see others.

But it goes beyond seeing, lest it remain observation or entertainment.

No. Beyond seeing it is seeking to connect. To understand. To value.

We are called to share laughter. To share tears. To celebrate and to mourn.

* * *

Words often help us to embrace our connections, but where words fail ... presence does not.

Simply holding space together — gathering — can connect us in joy and in sorrow ... even when the script falls short.

When you’re building a house, do you choose standard lumber to construct the walls, or do you source exotic logs and mill the pieces on your own?

When you’re brewing tea, do you purchase cups for serving or do you throw them yourself on the potter’s wheel?

When you’re starting a company, do you use existing HR software or do you build the tools from scratch?

At every point in a project, we have the choice between standard and special.

We need “special” to build something remarkable. But inevitably, there will be areas where standard inputs will still contribute to beautiful outputs.

Not every project has the scope and the budget of the Palace of Versailles. Even that were so, working without constraints can lead to mediocrity.

How and were we choose between standard and special can often affect the impact of our work and how it’s remembered ... or forgotten.

In secret, do you indulge or do you persevere?

When no one is looking ... are you more disciplined or more lazy? Intentional and focused ... or checked out?

It’s often what we do in private that influences the long arc of our lives.

Among others humans, a nine-year-old and a five-year-old boy live in my house.

The phrase “I’m telling!” is occasionally shouted from another room. Perhaps you can imagine brothers acting in this way.

When they shout, “I’m telling!” the idea is that, “When Mom and Dad find out what you’ve done, you’ll be in trouble.”

But it’s not always the case. “Telling” doesn’t always prompt action to be taken.

This happens more broadly, too. We think, “If only they knew about this problem, someone would do something.”

And yet. Hunger, inequality, injustice, and corruption persist. We know about it. We see it. Someone has told us. We’ve told someone. But action isn’t always taken.

So many times in our world, knowing isn’t enough. Telling isn’t enough.

Said another way, when major problems exist and action needs to be taken, “telling” is not sufficient action. It’s a necessary first step, but it’s only the beginning.

The sky is blue and the clouds are white.

Until they’re not.

Until the sky is golden yellow and the clouds are purple. Or one is orange and the other is magenta.

Art is often about seeing, and seeing is often about suspending our prejudices and assumptions and allowing ourselves to freshly experience what awaits our senses.

What we find can often surprise and delight.

State College, Pennsylvania. January 17, 2020.

This is the time of year that I step back (as subtly as possible) when someone coughs near me. If something contagious is going around, I’d just as well not catch it, thank you very much.

Some things, however, are worth catching. Generosity. Empathy. Creative drive. Excitement. Resilience. Purpose.

The challenge is to spread these things if they’re not spreading on their own. To make these things contagious.

How can we spread what we think is worth spreading? How can we encourage others to embrace what we think is worthwhile? How can we make it easier to share what’s share-worthy?

Today, we’re more connected than we’ve ever been in the history of humankind. We have the ability to spread the ideas worth spreading, but we have to choose to do so.

I glued a project recently. Spreading the glue was a bit complicated and it involved some time constraints.

As I put the pieces together, I focused on one area to make sure it was aligned. My focus was so intense that I didn’t notice another section that had shifted out of alignment. By the time I noticed it, there was no opportunity for adjustment.

No worries; I was able to trim off the excess without too much trouble.

Satisfied that I had corrected the problem, I observed my work ... only to realize that I had glued the entire element upside down.

* * *

This happens. Sometimes we’re so focused on one thing, that an equally important (or more important) other thing is overlooked.

We’re focused on the text and we forget to make sure the people in the back can hear us. We’re focused on the food and we forget the utensils. We’re focused on the departure time and we forget to make sure we have all our bags.

At any moment, we can become too narrow in our focus ... at the expense of other things that should be in our view.

We need to pause from time to time to make sure we haven’t missed something important. And of course, backing up to assess the big picture is best done before the proverbial glue has dried.

The goal is not to eliminate tension.

The goal is to release the tension that holds us back, and to embrace the tension that propels us forward.

We need tension … we just need the right kind of tension.

Being present in a meeting can be challenging. Digitally, there’s always someone knocking at the front door. Always someone in the waiting room. Always someone who wants our attention.

It’s our responsibility to temporarily mute those channels. To focus on what’s in front of us. To bring our full attention to the task at hand, and to those who have gathered to meet.

If those topics and those people don’t require our full attention, then our presence at the meeting is only marginally useful. It may be that our time will be best spent elsewhere.

And if that’s not true — if our contribution is indeed needed — then it’s time to set aside distractions and to be fully present.

Yesterday, I watched a mother — with a fluidity that made it seem unconscious — place her hand over a sharp corner as her toddler crawled near a bench.

Had he stood up, his head would have met her hand, not the hard wood.

It made me think of my own journey. I know of many times when people have helped me ... but surely there have been many other times when friends have been ready to help, just in case.

And we can do this too. Being conscious of others. Seeing them for who they are and where they want to go. And being ready to help where we can, should a friend begin to stumble.

To extend a hand when we see another in potential danger ... that’s a dynamic that doesn’t have to be limited to a mother and child.

There’s enough attention. Enough resources. Enough opportunity.

Enough — that you can share. That you can be generous. That you can point to others. That you can help someone else turn the ratchet in their own journey.

Zig Ziglar famously said, “You can have everything you want in life if you help enough other people get what they want.”

Our world is big enough and plentiful enough that we can give selflessly, and still gain what we ourselves seek.