When I was in grade school, math textbooks had answers in the back of the book. But they didn’t have all the answers — just the answers to odd-numbered questions.

So when a teacher assigned the “evens” for homework (and they always assigned the evens) you couldn’t copy answers, and you couldn’t check your answers either. Even if you did the work honestly, you couldn’t find rock-solid evidence that you’d done things exactly right.

The only option was to do your best and to trust yourself … and occasionally to check with a friend for the most difficult questions. (Right or wrong, maybe you two had solved it the same way.)

It turns out, much of life is like getting the even-numbered questions for homework.

Rebooting technology often solves problems. When a computer is particularly glitchy, a restart can work wonders. Bluetooth not working? Turn it off and then on again. Wireless down? Unplug your router and wait a few minutes before reconnecting it.

We know these things.

And we know the metaphor of rebooting ourselves — body and mind.

But why are reboots helpful?

One, rest is important. It clears the slate. Gives a fresh start. Clears the mess.

And two, there’s value in the start-up sequence. The process of initiating motion. The mental feeling of putting first things first and one foot in front of the other.

That small bit of order pays dividends.

Whether you need a quick power cycle, a daily reboot, or a hard reset — give yourself that gift. Sometimes soldiering on is ineffective. Sometimes pushing through is counterproductive.

Recently, I wrote about getting hurt — specifically about the possibility that a baseball might hit my son as he tried to field it. About being brave. About the temporary nature of pain.

More recently, a deflected baseball hit my own eye socket. Hard. While another one of my children was watching. (No worries: I’m fine.)

It was an unexpected opportunity for me to demonstrate how to navigate pain, injury, and a little embarrassment.

Sometimes life asks us to teach theory. Other times, it prompts us to put that theory into practice.

Be ready to walk the walk. It’s a gift.

As the game was about to resume, I heard a coach shout encouragingly to his players, “Have a plan!”

The line was delivered in the same way one might shout to a loved one from a platform as the train pulls away, “Call when you get there!”

“Have a plan.” A reminder to trust your training. A reminder to think. Not, “Predict the future.” Not, “Be perfect.” Not, “Don’t screw up.”

But simply, “Have a plan.”

Anticipate. Communicate. Be ready. Be flexible.

The advice extends to all of us in so many of our endeavors.

Hear the coach in your own mind: Have a plan!

Consider a tower crane … its foundation, its counterweights, and its jib.

A certain kind of weightiness — gravitas in the right places — helps us to extend our reach. That steadiness allows us to be creative at the edges.

Like it or not, this is what you got. Now what will you do with it?

We’re always faced with this situation. Sometimes we’re pleased. Sometimes we’re disappointed.

But we’re continually at the crossroads of, “Now what?”

If you’re unsure, lean.

Lean away from defeat. Lean away from despair. Away from whinging and regret.

And lean toward resilience. Toward curiosity. Toward gratitude, renewal, and possibility.

Purposeful movement is ideal. But sometimes leaning is enough.

Commitment is best demonstrated through action, not words.

Pay close attention. When “mute” is on — is the commitment still evident?

There’s the “superiority illusion” in psychology and the “Dunning-Kruger effect” and various studies … all of which  point to the idea that in some areas, at times, we hold an unrealistic measure of our own knowledge.

Example: many surveys have shown that the vast majority of drivers (80 or 90 percent) believe that they have above average driving skills. That’s statistically impossible.

Wherever we are on the spectrum, here’s the important thing to remember: we can learn from anyone. High-scorers, low-scorers, the proud and the humble … lessons — important lessons — can be learned if we’re willing and open.

* * *

Step one is recognizing that we have much to learn.

Have you ever spent time with someone who isn’t curious about you? They don’t ask you questions. They don’t seem interested. Wherever their focus is, it’s not on you.

Here’s the thing: is that person ever you?

Do you take time to be curious about yourself? To notice who you are and how you are? Not to judge … but to be interested?

You are with you all the time.

Be kind. Be curious.

We all have weaknesses. We all struggle in some way. Some of those struggles are quiet. They’re easily hidden or they’re unknown to others. But other personal challenges show up on the surface. They’re visible and obvious. Impossible to hide.

There are two possible takeaways here.

One, have compassion … particularly when someone — by luck of the draw — carries a perceived weakness on the outside.

Two, remember that when you perceive someone’s outward perfection, it’s just a story you’re creating. Everyone struggles, and sometimes it’s invisible to the world.

There’s a famous line from the movie Jurassic Park where Jeff Goldblum says, “Life … finds a way.”

Also true: Creativity finds a way.

Ask the CFO who plays guitar. Or the first responder who paints. Or the sales rep who’s in musical theatre.

Creativity finds a way.

Let it.

Welcome it.

Embrace it.

What makes a good day for you? What criteria are you measuring? How much of it is within your control?

If your good day is based on the weather, people’s opinions, and good fortune … you’re setting a high bar for success. There are a lot of variables in that mix.

The alternative is choosing to measure things within your control. Things like, “How well did I respond?” and, “Did I keep my promises?”

Love a sunny day, but don’t rely on sunshine to make it a good one.

Is there something you’ve always wanted to do?

Have you even used that language? i.e. “That’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”

Is that thing — is it an impossible dream that’s only worth occasional musing, but literally not possible?

Or is it something you can do, but you just haven’t done it?

If it’s possible, and you truly want to do it, what can you do to make it happen?

What small step can you take that will bring you closer to making that dream become a reality?

Note: “waiting until the right time” is not a particularly effective strategy. “Waiting” cannot be the small step. A small step requires action.

“This is good … and I can still do better.”

It’s a complicated dance.

Because the extremes — “This is terrible; everything is bad” or “I’m perfect; there’s no room for improvement” — neither one is a healthy place to live.

The sweet spot is somewhere in the middle.

“Don’t worry. It’s not going to hurt you.
Well … if it does, it won’t hurt badly.
And if it does hurt badly, it won’t hurt forever.”

In discussing the possibility that a rolling baseball might pop up and hit my son, I found myself incrementally adjusting how I communicated what to expect. Many worthwhile pursuits in life — sports included — involve a nonzero chance of getting hurt.

All this in the spirit of teaching: “No matter what happens, you’re going to be OK.”

It was surprisingly profound for the cashier to ask me, “Who are you today?”

Who am I? At this moment??? How to answer?

After a beat, and risking a disconnected reply, I said, “Fine thanks. And how are you?”

She was fine. And she had indeed asked me how I was today, not who I was. I had just heard it differently.

But the question remains. For all of us.

Who are you today? What does it mean to be you? In the all-too-short period of time that you’re on this planet, in this moment, who are you? How are things slightly more remarkable because you exist?

In the mid-1800s, if you spoke of “cutting corners” you might be talking about hunting — how a rider and hound chase a lure. (Chasing directly behind was preferred over cutting corners.)

But these days, “cutting corners” tends to mean that someone has done hasty work. That quality has been sacrificed. That steps have been skipped.

However … with each advance in technology, tools, and platforms, it’s worth reevaluating whether the corners are still relevant. Some corners might be old habits that no longer make sense. They might be part of an outdated map. The old corners might not even exist — you might now be in an open field.

The advice is not to be deceitfully slapdash. Rather, it’s to stay alert to innovation. Don’t keep your corners if the corners no longer matter.

Three people were at the hospital reception desk. Two were seated behind monitors. The third person, a security guard, stood nearby.

All three were cheery. All three were nice. But it was the security guard who smiled broadly and gave me clear directions on which hallways to take, when to turn, and what to do. As though an administrator had said, “Part of your job is to be like a welcoming doorman. When visitors arrive, treat them like honored guests. Be friendly and helpful. Make sure you smile warmly.”

I’m willing to bet that no one ever gave him such instructions. My guess is that he made a personal choice to take on that role. “Whose job is it to welcome people and offer guidance? Whose job is it to be warm and inviting? I can do those things.”

A certain kind of magic happens when we use our gifts to fill unwritten roles in order to make things better.

“They’re the best losing team in the league.”

Sometimes a team has skill, determination, and drive. But the little things fall apart. Or details are missed. Or the timing is wrong. Or a little bad luck comes into play.

Despite a lot of promise, sometimes good teams come up short. In sport, in business, in politics.

But if a team is really a good team, those losses fuel their drive to improve. The voids created by setbacks aren’t filled with despair — they’re filled in with grit, character, and boundless determination.

“Easier said than done.”

There are many times when this is true. Other times, curiously, it’s the opposite.

But still, sometimes we say things in order to give ourselves the courage to do them. The words become our way of leaning into the action.