My son played in an exciting baseball game yesterday. With darkness falling upon the field, the game was called with the teams tied.

Later that evening, my son said to me, “I want to work harder. That felt great, but I’m not satisfied.”

I love that kind of attitude. From a ten-year-old, no less.

* * *

What has you feeling unsatisfied? And what’s your version of dealing with that tension?

Losing is not easy.

But there are good losses and bad losses.

In a good loss, you’ve done everything you can. You did your best. Things were reasonably fair and you just came up short.

In a bad loss, you feel like you were cheated — either cheated by others, or cheated by yourself.

It’s the second one that’s harder to take. That you could have been better-prepared. Or more focused. That you had it within you, but you just didn’t do the right things at the right times. Or you were a little lazy and it ended up costing you. Any loss like that is tough to swallow.

We don’t try to lose. But when it happens, let’s make sure they’re good losses.

Exert, recover. Push, relax. Sprint, rest.

It’s the natural rhythm of things. (The body even insists upon it.)

But in addition to physical rest, we need intellectual, emotional, and spiritual rest too. Those areas need their own version of exertion and recovery.

We can’t just go go go. We need moments to pause and to heal — in all areas of our wellbeing.

Give yourself that time to recover. Build that space and protect it.

It’s time to stop waiting for someone to tell you what to do.

“Oh, I’m not waiting for a boss to give me instructions.”

Maybe not. But if you’re pouring through books and scrolling through websites … seeking answers, directions, and advice … it could be that you’ve just decentralized the boss role, outsourcing it to what’s available on the interwebs.

* * *

Don’t stop reading.

But without the influence of books, magazines, or websites, take time to sit quietly with these two thoughts: “this is where I am now” and “this is the direction I want to go.”

Note that it’s not “this is where I am, but I’d rather be somewhere else.”

It’s accepting where we are, pointing toward where we want to go … and taking the smallest possible step in that direction. And then doing it again.

We cannot change the past. We can’t change big things (perhaps that’s easy to accept). But we can’t even change the smallest of things (sometimes that’s hard to accept).

The call to run one play over another in sports. The use of a word that unintentionally causes harm. A split-second decision in driving.

If only we could go back and change that one tiny thing.

Of course, we can’t.

We have now, and we have what’s next.

The past is fixed. Unchangeable. We can choose to obsess over it (and over undesirable outcomes) or we can choose to let it go. To learn. To move on. Or to move through.

While we can’t change the past, we can determine its meaning and its influence upon our future.

In a tightly connected system, you can’t change one thing without the other parts being affected.

Whether it’s an assembly line, a golf swing, a check-in procedure, a line of code — change one thing, and it’s likely to influence other elements.

The risk is that by changing one small thing, everything else falls apart. That the system was built carefully, and the small thing is part of the whole. Designed with purpose.

The opportunity, however, is that one small change can sometimes make the difference between broken and working … or between acceptable and phenomenal.

Sometimes it’s just a matter of changing one small thing in the right way.

In any journey of significant length, it’s rare that a single mode of transportation will take you all the way from start to finish.

At some point, you’ll need to switch modes.

(You can’t park a jumbo jet in the driveway. And likewise, you can’t ride a bicycle on the runway.)

It’s the same with our personal endeavors.

The moxie that got you in the door might not be what finalizes the contract.

The vulnerability that earned trust might not be what builds consensus.

The creativity that generated excitement might not be what establishes a timeline.

Just as different parts of a journey require different modes of transportation, different parts of our endeavors require different skills from our toolbox.

“Please clean your room before getting started on your homework.”
“But I don’t have time to clean my room and do my homework!”

(Yes. Yes you do.)

A pleasant, completely calm interaction over the weekend prompted me to think about time.

When we say, “I don’t have time to do this,” it means we think one of two things.

One: Completing this task will take longer than the allotted time.

Or two: Completing this task — without deferring other activities — will take longer than the allotted time.

It’s that part about “deferring other activities” that tends to get us into trouble. Many times, we just don’t want to give up comfort, leisure, and relaxation. Or we don’t want to change our schedule. Or we don’t want to make sacrifices.

So we protest, “I don’t have time!”

But often, we do. It just might require flexibility, discomfort, or a little of both.

I used the word aspiration in yesterday’s post.

It’s a wonderful, lofty word — but even better when we think of its etymology.

To breathe into. To breathe upon.

What projects are you breathing into? Do they matter?

Are there other worthy pursuits desperate for your attention? In need of your breath?

Here’s to aspiring. To life-giving breath. To breathing in … and breathing into.

We set all kinds of timers, alerts, reminders, and alarms.

But do we set anything in case our dreams and aspirations have fallen asleep?

We can’t pay close attention to more than one speaker at the same time; it’s too complicated for our brain to process.

So when we listen to the voice of negativity inside our own head, there’s no airtime for the positive voice.

The opposite is true too.

Choose who gets to stand at the podium.

The problem might be that your studio is too shallow: there’s not enough space behind you.

And the thing to do is to back up. To step away from the easel. To create distance between you and the work.

And then … to look at what you have with fresh eyes.

(This practice can also be applied to painting.)

One of the wonderful things about walking is that you can’t take all the steps at once. It just doesn’t work that way.

Even when you see the entire length of the journey ahead, you never feel the overwhelm of thinking you need to take all the steps at once. The steps come one after the other, the way they always do. We understand and accept this.

It helps when we can bring this kind of practical patience to the rest of our lives.

Step by step. As if we were walking.

“This call may be recorded for quality purposes.”

Fine. You’re going to record this, and legally, you have to let me know.

But I’d love to hear instead, “This call may be delightful for quality purposes.”

Of course, this will soon create a problem: you’ll attract more customers.

(A good problem to have.)

“Woah. Amazing! Look at this!!!”
“Oh. Um … Uh-huh.”

We are naturally curious. Naturally inspired. Naturally filled with wonder and awe.

But over time, we learn to protect that. To hold it close to ourselves.

It just takes a few experiences of a child revealing a passionate interest to a disinterested peer group.

Or a person explaining a creative pursuit to an unreceptive audience.

And then we hesitate to share when we’re inspired.

Or worse, we hesitate to even be inspired.

Resist this.

You were born to love. To fall in love. To be deeply interested in the things that deeply interest you.

While you’re not alone in your interests, it can sometimes feel lonely.

But don’t let that stop you.

Love what you love.

There’s a kaleidoscope whose viewport is all your own. Delight in it.

I’m not where I am because of my own hard work.

I’m where I am because of my own hard work …

… and because of people who believed in me

… and because of people who took risks in giving me a chance

… and because of love

… and because of luck.

* * *

We can’t control luck, but we can choose to help others … which is kind of like creating a little bit of luck in someone else’s life.

The spirit that opens the door is not always the same spirit that carries us across the threshold.

The spirit that sees opportunity is not always the same spirit that takes action.

The spirit that listens is not always the same spirit that hears.

The spirit that begins is not always the same spirit that continues, and not always the same spirit that finishes.

Overheard recently: “How long is the CPR class? Ugh. I hope it’s short.”

* * *

Should one of us ever need CPR, I hope we’re helped by someone who didn’t mind taking the full, in-depth course.

Sometimes, knowing the material matters a lot more than having the certificate.

As an artist, there can be tension between my love of creativity, and my desire to keep a tidy house — along with raising uninjured, generally non-chaotic kids.

These words are gentle reminders to myself.

From Lady Allen of Hurtwood — advocate of adventure playgrounds for children:

“Better a broken bone than a broken spirit.”

And from astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson, who implores us to embrace children’s curiosity. That their curiosity (provided it does not kill them) is worth the extra work, cleanup, and mending.

“Kids are sources of chaos and disorder. … They are experimenting with their environment. Everything is new to them.”

“You don’t have kids with the intent of retaining a clean house.”

I’m still learning to embrace the disorder.

That mud puddle? [cringe]

Go. Go jump in it.

How often do we pause to consider whether “something is there” that merits deeper reflection or investigation?

Why do I act this way?

Why does this certain thing annoy me so much?

Why do I keep coming back to this particular thought?

Why am I putting off doing that thing?

Is there something there? Is something under the surface that needs some attention, some understanding, some healing, or some closer looking?

Step one is to notice.

Step two is to look closer to see if there’s something there.