Unfair situations are a lot more bearable when we’re on the upside.

Inequality is a polite, academic discussion when we benefit from the imbalance.

Injustice is a distressing but tolerable feeling when we read about it instead of experiencing it directly.

* * *

Recognizing our own comfortable seat on a broken ride — whether personal, familial, local or global — is the first step in standing up to help fix it.

The introductory phrase, “Don’t take this the wrong way …” is almost always followed by words that are taken the wrong way.

A different approach might be this: “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I want to share my perspective, and it might be hard to hear.”

It’s a different preamble. It’s awkward to deliver, but it might yield a more helpful conversation.

I heard an “examination of conscience” being read while I was scanning through the radio. One of its questions has stayed with me.

“What is the fundamental orientation of my life?”

The question lives in the world of “personal mission” and “North Star” but it’s more specific and it goes much deeper.

I wonder if you’ve sat with such a question.

It seems like it would be time well spent.

Key Performance Indicators (KPIs) are an important part of a business model.

What are your goals? What are you measuring? What do the numbers say?

But it might be useful to see KPIs on a personal level, too. Not formally, but just as an idea.

You might even discover that, if you were tracking what you believe to be important — at least in some areas — you’re doing pretty well. No shame in giving yourself a pat on the back for that.

I visited a college campus a few years ago, just as the skies opened. I had forgotten that it was supposed to rain all day, and I was unprepared. Finding a visitor’s center, I bought the last umbrella they had in stock — larger than I needed, but perfect for keeping me dry.

When I got to the event I had planned to attend, I propped the umbrella in a corner near the entrance.

And you guessed it: when the event was over, my new umbrella was nowhere to be found.

But I wasn’t bothered. Aside from the rainy walk to the parking garage, I didn’t need another umbrella (I had one at home).

I’d like to think that someone in desperate need of a dry walk spied the umbrella and delighted in their good fortune. I’d like to think that the umbrella continues to be passed (or taken) as needed. A pay-it-forward gamp of sorts.

On another occasion, my wife and I had finished having dinner on a trip to Baltimore. Walking back to the hotel, we saw a man sitting in the rain with a sign telling of his struggle with homelessness. My wife and I looked at each other and silently agreed: this man should have our umbrella.

One umbrella stolen. One umbrella given. Both for the better.

Getting wet isn’t the biggest deal in the world, but staying dry can be of some comfort. My new approach to travel is this: whatever umbrella you carry, let it be one that you’re willing to give away freely.

Permanence … at least, the kind that we often try to create … is an illusion.

Whether it’s a feeling or a circumstance or an ability, everything is fleeting. What we build up — physically, spiritually, intellectually — it’s all slightly leaky. Some of it has more staying power, but none of it is fixed.

So instead of seeking permanence, we focus on maintaining a practice. On finding a posture. On living a philosophy.

And perhaps those things become lasting, along with our reluctant acceptance of the idea, “This too shall pass.”

It’s always been that way.

And even with built-in uncertainty, we can live full, beautiful lives.

Sometimes it’s not vigilance, but us dozing off — and waking with a start — that prompts us to recognize the work that still needs to be done.

These accidental naps (whether literal or figurative) can be a natural kind of preparation.

* * *

Now that you’re refreshed, what needs doing?

(And just as a word of direct encouragement: you’ve got this.)

So much of our suffering comes from the gap between expectations and reality.

We expect something (or someone) to be one way, and what we experience turns out to be quite different.

How tightly do we grip that disappointment? How long do we remind ourselves about what we thought would happen and the way things were “supposed” to be?

We can do three things. We can continue to be discontent. Or we can work to change our circumstances. Or we can work to change ourselves.

That last option — changing what happens inside our head — is the option that’s most readily available, the easiest, and yet the hardest too.

Dead ends can be frustrating.

But unobstructed paths are not free of challenges. Sometimes clear paths can prompt anxious doubts.

While not ideal, the certainty that a dead end provides can be a gift: one more way that we know doesn’t work.

Onward.

You can deliver the words, “Thank you,” in many ways.

With joy.
With relief.
With sincerity.
With surprise.
With impatience.
With entitlement.
With sarcasm.
With flatness.

Not all of these ways are equal.

When you’re grateful, communicate the words with intention.

Nothing has the potential to change perspective as much as personal experience.

Legislation, policy, rules and exceptions … it’s all seen in a different light when it affects you and your loved ones.

Trying to understand and empathize — even when it’s not personal — is the difficult but necessary work of building a just world.

The way something plays out isn’t always personal for us, but it’s always personal for someone.

“You can’t go wrong.”

In some settings, all the choices are good choices. No matter what you pick, it’s a viable option. Maybe even great option.

Some restaurants are like this. Some higher-end clothing and retail stores, too. Even some design platforms.

In these tidy worlds, someone has thoughtfully curated the options. They’ve done the hard work of editing and selecting so that you get to choose from among what works.

But it’s not always like this. Some settings are wild and untamed. They’re filled with options, and not all of them are good options.

Appreciate when someone has done the design legwork for you. Appreciate that the curation has occurred.

And beware when you’re in the consumer wilderness. Not everything you see is good stuff.

There’s an amusing phenomenon that can happen when we sing songs with multiple verses.

(Imagine a group of people singing at a summer camp, a school, or a house of worship.)

Certainly the group sings a verse or two. But do we sing the third verse? The fourth? Everything that’s printed?

Sans established protocol, sans a music leader, the question arises, “Was that the end or do we keep going?”

If everyone stops singing, the song obviously ends. But if just one person begins the next verse — and continues confidently — the entire group will continue.

Ah, the power of one voice.

In any number of situations, you can be that “voice” that determines whether we continue what we’ve been doing. For better or worse.

Paraphrasing recent words from Pope Francis:

We are often tempted to give primary importance to secondary needs.

Profound. And worth some quiet personal reflection.

A lot of youth sports and performing arts programs have elements that involve parent volunteers.

Whether it’s fundraising, concession stand duties, or ticket sales, there’s work to be done. Sometimes, the “volunteering” is compulsory and parents are “voluntold” what to do.

So be it.

In these situations, it’s important to communicate purpose. To explain why.

“Here’s why we need your help.”
”Here’s how this activity supports our program.”
”This is what happens with the money.”
”This is why it’s worth it.”

When volunteers are connected to that vision, they can be enrolled in the journey.

And if you can’t figure out why participation is necessary, then it’s time to revisit the plan.

And if in articulating the purpose, you realize, “Based on what we’re trying to achieve, there’s a better way to do this,” then it’s definitely time to revisit the plan.

We deal with fire better than we deal with melting glaciers.

And it makes sense that our antennae are tuned for urgent crises. Without that bias, we wouldn’t survive emergencies.

The challenge comes — in any of our pursuits — when we’ve successfully put out all the fires, but we’re still on high alert. When we find ourselves waiting for another urgent issue to call for our immediate attention … and nothing arrives.

Meanwhile, the important but non-urgent problems persist.

For us to have an impact on those critical but slow-moving issues, we need to attend to them during the fire-free seasons, even if those are just brief moments that we can regularly create.

Of all the things that beg for your attention — the things that are shiny, the things that shout, the things that pop up, the things that are important, the things that seem important, the things that are satisfying, the things that will yield future value — among all these things, how do you choose?

Because not choosing has a cost.

Even if much of the day is met with passive openness, we can still choose to direct our attention in small, but meaningful ways. And over time, those choices begin to shape a story.

Making a choice is at the heart of it.

What happens when we add patience to all our efforts?

Instead of learning, patient learning.

Instead of partnership, patient partnership.

Patient investing.

Patient exercise.

Patient cooking.

Patient leadership.

And maybe “adding” is the wrong word. Maybe it’s more like “embracing” or “cultivating” or “living” patience.

Even patient eagerness.

Patient everything.

How might that change the experience of living?

External change — for it to last — requires internal conversion.

We can’t have one without the other.

“We just don’t know what will happen.”

It’s a shared feeling among many.

But there are other things that we do know. Things that we know that we know. Things deep in our soul.

We lean on these truths for support when all the unknowns lead us to a place of worry.

Some things are certain — and many of them are good.