If you’re having trouble making a change, consider interrupting the pattern.

Stop mid-bite. Stop mid-sentence. Mid-bottle. Mid-video. Mid-whatever. Don’t finish. Don’t get to the end. Just stop in the middle.

When we finish ... when we say, “after this month,” or, “after I’m done with this last one,” we allow cycles to perpetuate. After all, when a cycle ends, the natural thing is for another cycle to begin.

But if we seek to change — if we’re serious about it — we might as well start right away. Don’t wait until a natural pause, or a new day, or a new week.

Make the change now.

You can forgive yourself without letting yourself off the hook.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean, “now you can do whatever you want.”

It means that — without holding yourself prisoner because of the past — you can choose a new path forward.

Freedom in the forgiveness, accountability for the future.

“Is the sickness over yet, Daddy?”

How does one explain a pandemic to a five-year-old?

As we all watch numbers and trends shift around the globe, it’s evident: this is complicated. There’s no start and stop. There’s a lot of gray area.

And we experience clear restrictions amidst a complicated illness.

Our children will learn the value of hand washing. They will have an understanding of how viruses spread. They will know what it’s like to quarantine. And yes, some will know loss.

But hopefully, they will also learn how to use technology to maintain relationships. They’ll learn to be resourceful within constraints. They’ll develop new skills. And they’ll appreciate the sacredness of human connection.

The pandemic isn’t over yet. But the appreciation of health, family, friendship and connection isn’t over yet either.

And our best days are still ahead of us.

Sometimes the rules keep things from getting better. True, protocol and policy can keep society from falling apart … but blind, strict adherence to rules is the stuff of dystopian science fiction.

We’re better than that.

So what rules can we break in order to make things better? And what does better look like?

Breaking all of the rules is foolish. Rules serve a purpose and they create valuable guard rails. But where can we push against those rails? And where does it make sense to remove them?

Which rules are holding us back from better?

* * *

It’s worth clarifying: there are lots of guidelines (suggested by experts) related to curbing the spread of infectious disease. These are not the rules to break. The short-term improvement — like having fun at an over-crowded pool party — ignores the long-term risk. “Better now” does not always translate to a better tomorrow.

We can wait to be picked. Or we can work diligently, and look for opportunities wherever they are found.

They’re two different paths.

In one, we sit still, waiting for a door to open. Resting upon past efforts. Pointing to an aging portfolio.

In the other, we’re pushing, pulling, trying the handles, examining the locks. We’re not waiting; we’re working.

* * *

Instead of waiting for a gatekeeper to arrive, we can choose to become the master locksmiths.

It’s easy to fall into the thought pattern that there’s one right decision and many wrong decisions.

This is particularly vexing when “the one right decision” has not been identified ... which can lead to paralysis. A non-decision. (Which may be yet another wrong decision.)

But often, not only is there one right decision — there are many right decisions. We just have to choose one.

The beauty is, we’re pliable. Flexible. Adaptable. Adjustable. We can course-correct when necessary.

We don’t need to trust ourselves to always make the best decisions.

But we can trust ourselves to keep making decisions. To navigate what comes. To navigate whatever comes.

And so we decide. Right or wrong, we decide. And then we do it again.

We remember fallen heroes not by how we mourn, but by how we live.

May each of us find ways to live out our gratitude and to lead lives worthy of sacrifice.

When someone says, “Don’t take this the wrong way,” my body tenses.

Sure, I appreciate the warning, but my mind says, “You’re not going to like what you’re about to hear.” Something personal is about to be said or a blind spot is about to be revealed.

* * *

If we’re the speaker — the one delivering the critique — this is an opportunity to pause (before giving the “wrong way” prelude).

How might the context be given? How might the advice be offered in such a way that the listener understands its motivation? How can the delivery be such that its generosity is evident?

And if it’s not thoughtful and generous, perhaps “not taking it the wrong way” is a tall order.

The cashier said to me, “Huh! You certainly have a look about you.”

I must have appeared puzzled, as if waiting for an explanation. She obliged.

“Well, you’ve got a very young-looking face, but you also have a lot of gray hair.”

I laughed.

(It seems that I also look like the kind of person who doesn’t mind a candid discussion about his physical appearance.)

It was an amusing interaction, but it also got me thinking about the idea of having “a look” about one’s self.

Do we look friendly? Kind? Eager to help? Confident?

Looks aren’t everything, but the way we carry ourselves is something. Our expression is something. Our demeanor is something.

It’s worth some self-reflection: what kind of look do I have about me?

A dynamo is a device that turns mechanical energy into electrical current. You’ll often see these on touring bicycles where the spinning of the front wheel is used to power a light.

But we know that “dynamo” is also a word that describes a person with a lot of energy.

A consideration: how can we be like a dynamo? Not someone who’s merely energetic, but someone who gives energy to others? Someone who inspires others?

That a connection to us is not stress, negativity, or anxiety … but anticipation, liveliness, and possibility?

The other version of you is not behind schedule.

The other version of you is feeling organized.

The other version of you gave voice to conviction.

The other version of you acted with confidence.

The other version of you didn’t waste any time.

* * *

Of course, we are that version if we choose to be.

Instead of looking upon that other version of ourselves with longing and regret, we can step into that role. We can live there instead of visiting there.

We can be that better version ... striding forward, un-tethered from the past.

Robert Frost gives us the beautiful lines, “No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader.”

I come back to these words often, as they provide worthwhile, enduring challenges in the creative process.

* * *

How can we pour ourselves into our work? How can we open wide and give of ourselves, such that the reader is moved?

And how can we maintain life within our creative practice? How can we embrace discovery and play such that the reader is also surprised and inspired?

(Note that the “reader” is also the viewer, the listener, the consumer, the user, and the audience. It’s beyond medium. Beyond genre.)

If we approach our work with boredom, apathy, and dispassion, that’s likely to be what we will cultivate in those we seek to serve.

It’s a shame, really. When children are invited to “rise and shine” they’re half asleep.

The concept of rising is such a significant change that they’re inclined to forget the second half of the invitation.

* * *

Perhaps we struggle with this, too — rising and shining.

But if we can’t do the two things together, how can we do them apart?

How can we rise ... and then shine?

The invitation is there for all of us. So how will we shine today?

And how can we help others to do the same?

It doesn’t take much. A splinter. A burn. A cut. A toothache.

Sometimes, a small area of injury can create an out-sized measure of inconvenience, discomfort, or pain. A perfectly healthy body, but for that one thing, which receives all of our focus.

And of course, this isn’t limited to the physical world.

A small emotional wound, for instance, can cast a shadow much darker and much wider than it deserves.

It has that kind of power … but only if we let it.

And we don’t have to do that. We can choose to focus our attention elsewhere, and we can choose to tell ourselves a different story. One that serves us. One that takes us beyond the injury.

We’re not born as leaders. We’re born as babies.

Leadership is a skill, and it’s one that we can learn.

But we don’t have to wait until we cultivate all the desirable skills. We can start as we are.

* * *

We grow into being good leaders. We don’t start there.

We start by deciding to lead.

Speaking about our destination is important. Dreaming it. Seeing it. Making the map that leads us to it.

But we can’t “do” our destination.

What we can do is take the next step in the right direction.

Yes, envision the long-term goal. Then, focus on that next step …

... and take it.

“I will not let this happen,” is a powerful statement of conviction.

“We will not let this happen,“ is a statement that has the power to shift the culture.

Why does this matter?

The biggest problems in our world are not solved by a personal conviction; they’re solved by a change in the culture.

It’s what we do together that matters the most.

Light doesn’t shine around the darkness. It doesn’t get over the darkness. It doesn’t move past the darkness.

Light shines through the darkness.

And so can we.

Compared to what you were expecting?

Compared to what you were hoping?

Compared to what others have?

Compared to how it could have been?

Compared to your best?

Compared to someone else’s best?

Compared to yesterday?

* * *

When we make an assessment of good or bad, better or worse, we’re often (perhaps always) making a comparison.

The question is: compared to what?

And importantly: how does that particular point of comparison serve us?

Some people will not be ready to hear your great idea. They will be uninspired. Uninterested. Unconcerned.

And that’s normal.

Whether it’s a child, a student, a family member, a colleague, a stranger, or a friend ... there are times our ideas will not resonate.

We have three options.

• One: feel frustrated. Try to force the idea; it’s a good one after all.

• Two: seek a more receptive audience. Find the people who will love your idea.

• Three: come up with better ideas. Maybe there’s a reason the first idea didn’t resonate.

Option number one — the one where we spend all our energy trying to convince the one person in the room who doesn’t get the joke — that’s a long, frustrating, and usually unsatisfying road to travel.