There’s a piece of scripture often spoken at weddings:

“Love is patient, love is kind. It is not jealous, is not pompous, it is not inflated,

it is not rude, it does not seek its own interests, it is not quick-tempered, it does not brood over injury,

it does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth.

It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never fails.”

In reflecting upon this, replace “love” with your own name. Or your family’s name. Or your name along with your partner’s.

When we try to live in this way, the world begins to change.

The first wave hit me hard. It knocked me back a few steps.

As the waters receded, I saw the next wave coming.

Instead of standing still, instead of backing away, I hurried toward it.

Just like that, I was beyond the crest of the breakers and into the calmer, undulating waters.

Perhaps you know this experience. Perhaps you know the feeling.

We can’t always avoid getting knocked around. But sometimes the thing to do is to run right at it. Not to hide. Not to step away. Not even to hold our ground, but to move toward our challenges with bold determination.

There are different ways to speak about our challenges.

• I suffer from

• I struggle with

• I fight against

• I cope with

• I deal with

• I live with

• I live through

• I learn from

• I sit with

• I thrive despite

How do you talk about conditions in your life?

The language we use matters.

When you’re juggling a lot of things, it’s worth asking, “Do all these items need to be in motion at the same time?”

Maybe a few are asking to be set aside for a bit. Maybe they’d be just fine without your immediate attention.

If you’re feeling overwhelmed, instead of letting something fall accidentally, make a conscious choice about what gets put on pause.

Better to own a delay than to clean up a spill.

Toddlers toddle. Unsteady, novice steps.

They fall. They get back up. They toddle more.

They do this unembarrassed. Even as others watch.

And slowly, over time, they learn.

As adults, we’re more self-conscious.

We don’t like to toddle in the areas where we’re learning. We don’t like to be seen toddling either.

But toddling is a part of growing. Those who can be comfortable with a beginner’s unsteadiness are those who will continue to grow.

We don’t learn how our work resonates by calculating.

Or by thinking. Or studying. Or imagining.

We learn what resonates by shouting into the void.

And then we listen for what returns.

“What I hear you saying is _______. Is that right? Is there anything else?”

Communication improves when we ask these questions more often.

Relationships improve when we ask these questions more often.

Questions like these benefit the speaker just as much as the listener.

When it matters, don’t be afraid to ask. It’s good for everyone.

What are you creating that can be shared with everyone? What are you creating that will be shared with only a few?

What are you creating that can be freely duplicated? What are you creating that will be a one-off?

What are you creating that can exist in perpetuity? What are you creating that will exist for only a short time?

Generosity is found on both sides of each of these coins. For any given project, consider: why is doing it one way better than the other?

During an important phone call, I was placed on hold. Strangely, there was no on-hold music. No sound. Nothing.

It was uncomfortable.

When we’re waiting, and we don’t hear anything, we might begin to worry. Even to panic.

What’s happening? Is something broken? Have I been forgotten?

Whether on the phone or in life, it’s important to remember: waiting doesn’t always have a sound.

Sometimes we wait in silence, with only the sound of our own thoughts.

The silence isn’t necessarily a signal that we’re in the wrong place. Sometimes it’s just that: silence.

There’s never the promise of a masterpiece. It cannot be guaranteed. It cannot be predicted.

We can set the stage for our finest work, but we still need to show up and dance with risk, fear, and the potential for failure.

Whether the result is a masterpiece or not, the game always proves worthy of playing.

I spent a few uninterrupted hours in the studio.

It was glorious.

I was reminded: I’m an artist. I need studio time.

But I also believe that we’re all artists. We’re all makers.

It’s just a question of what your studio looks like. It’s not just rooms with easels and canvases. Or clay and wheels. It’s classrooms, labs, offices, theaters, kitchens, workshops, virtual rooms, courts, pitches, fields and so much more.

Where does your creativity come alive?

How are you making time to be in that place?

No one is going to drag you to it. But it’s calling for you.

How are you going to show up?

I had an idea to build a toy for my son. I was on my second iteration of the plans and beginning to create a cut list for the shop. Seeing this — and the amount of work that would be involved — my wife asked, “Could you make it out of cardboard instead of wood?”

Hmm. Cardboard. Readily available. Easily to cut. Light. Recyclable.

It was a much better option.

Instead of spending a couple hours in the shop, I spent a half-hour at the kitchen table.

The end result was exactly what it needed to be.

When we find ourselves over-thinking, over-planning, and over-engineering, it can be helpful to refocus and aim for a minimum viable product. It doesn’t have to be cheap, sloppy, or lacking. It can be beautiful in its efficiency.

Too many great ideas die in the studio because — despite good intentions — they’ve been made unnecessarily complicated.

When we fight against over-engineering, we often have a better shot at bringing the things we’re making off the drawing board and into existence.

You may have the best doner kebab recipe in town, but it won’t sell-out at the school’s bake sale. People go to the bake sale for baked goods.

When it’s the end of the day and you’re left with all that unsold kebab, don’t think, “rough crowd.” Think, “wrong venue.”

* * *

Our good work doesn’t always land. Sometimes it’s the wrong audience. Sometimes it’s the wrong setting. Or it’s the right audience on the wrong day.

Before you give up on what you’ve generously made for the world, make sure you’ve presented it in the right place to those who will have an appetite for it. If that audience — the one you seek to serve — if that audience isn’t interested, then maybe it’s time to step back and re-evaluate.

Yesterday is yesterday.

Today is today.

Tomorrow is tomorrow.

So many of our problems arise when we seek to rearrange these assignments.

When we instead acknowledge these days for what they are, we become more at peace with what was, what is, and what might come to be.

Thank you for reading this.

Every day, I write a blog post. Sometimes it takes ten minutes. Sometimes it takes an hour. Some posts go through a dozen tweaks and revisions.

It’s all with the hope that I can provide you something that’s useful, insightful, and able to be read in a few minutes.

Those minutes that you take to read what I write — and sometimes forward to friends — they matter a lot to me.

I don’t have a million readers, or a million hours, or a million dollars. But you’re reading, and I do have a few moments of your attention. That gives me a million reasons to be grateful.

Thank you. I say this from the heart.

Maybe the Mona Lisa had a gratitude practice.

When we pause and call to mind the things for which we’re grateful, we can’t help but smile a little (or even a lot).

To limit her snacking, Mary had a clever strategy: she would only eat the broken cookies.

Rose had a strategy too: she would never eat a whole cookie. She’d only break off half at a time.

And throughout the course of the day, the sisters would inevitably eat the whole tray.

* * *

I wonder how often we limit our vices to small quantities … only to find that those vices are large in number when added together.

The good thing is that good habits can work the same way — little by little — creating significant positive change over time.

In mid-2020, I went to a store that was at capacity because of social distancing measures. Outside, ten people waited for their turn to enter.

When one patron exited the store, another was allowed in.

I didn’t want to wait in line, but I decided to wait anyway.

Two takeaways:

One. The wait was only two minutes (I timed it). I had considered leaving because the line seemed long. However, it moved quickly. Long lines don’t always mean long wait times.

Two. Just a small bit of waiting translated into an unusual exhilaration when I entered the store. There was some relief. There was some excitement. (I was in!) That short period of waiting outside made the experience of being inside feel special.

Next time you see a line, don’t dismay. It might not be all that bad.

The sign said, “In case of fire, do not use elevator. Use stairs.”

But there was no indication of how to get to the stairs.

Life is often like this. We get the clear message: this is not the way. But further instructions do not follow.

Luckily, we’re not often in a building-is-on-fire situation.

Mostly, we’re just trying to find our way.

Sometimes there are signs and guides. Sometimes there are none. Sometimes we have companions. Sometimes we’re on our own.

Regardless of whether there’s a fire, we can’t just stop, staring at the proverbial sign that says “not this way.”

Instead, we keep moving. We keep testing. We keep seeking better. We keep endeavoring.

Literally, “I leave it up to you.”

In a Japanese sushi restaurant, omakase allows the chef to curate the meal.

It’s a way of saying, “You are the expert. Please delight me. I don’t need to control what’s about to happen. I trust your judgement.”

What happens when we liberate an artist in this way?

And what does it mean for us … when our own creative judgement is given that level of trust?

It could be that we have this kind of opportunity more often than we realize.