You don’t need an instrument to make music.

You don’t need a canvas to make art.

You don’t need words to make poetry.

You don’t need eyes to have vision.

You don’t need movement to dance.

* * *

You are limited only when you choose to be.

These words from Dwight D. Eisenhower still have weight decades later:

“People talk about the middle of the road as though it were unacceptable. Actually, all human problems, excepting morals, come into the gray areas. Things are not all black and white. There have to be compromises. The middle of the road is all of the usable surface. The extremes, right and left, are in the gutters.”

Edges are important. Pushing boundaries is part of making things better.

However, in many areas of life, the “middle of the road” is where we need to find ourselves in order to make any progress at all. It’s the usable surface.

We love when our comments are returned with, “Exactly right! I agree completely.”

And we need that validation.

But it’s just as important — and a good practice in communication — to have challenging conversations where others begin from a place of, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

That’s our opportunity to dialogue.

Tension, but good tension.

Don’t run from it. Dance with it.

From the Bhagavad Gita:

“You have the right to work, but for the work’s sake only. You have no right to the fruits of the work. … They who work selfishly for results are miserable.”

This wisdom sinks deeply.

The fruit will come in due time, perhaps. Either way, don’t let it be your focus.

Keep your gaze upon the work at hand.

* * *

H/T Scott

I listened to a reporter being interviewed on the radio. The reporter’s response to every question the anchor asked began this way: “Yeah. So, — ”

Without fail.

Every response.

I began to listen for that intro instead of listening to the content of the answer.

That introductory phrase is common these days. It’s rampant in reporting and academia. It seems to be a short form of, “I understand the question. It’s a good one. I have an answer. I’m putting together the best words to convey that answer.”

All good things. But it’s unnecessary verbal filler.

Even worse, it becomes a distracting pattern.

Whether you’re in the Q&A business or not, it’s useful to be aware of our own patterns and idiosyncrasies. We all have them.

If yours distracts listeners from what you’re trying to say, it might be time to retire the habit.

We’d love to have the perfect tools, adequate space, a sufficient budget, an ideal team, and boundless energy.

At times, we do.

But most often, we work with, amidst, and from … imperfection. Rarely is everything in place exactly as we’d script it.

Even so, look what we can do! Look how resilient. How resourceful. How clever.

Some of our best work comes out of flawed situations.

Turns out, imperfect is a great place to begin.

It’s up to us to actively prioritize the most important things in life.

If we wait until the important things prioritize themselves, we’ll have wasted too much time.

Don’t wait.

The time is now.

Distillers don’t sit idly while their whiskey ages and matures.

Between the barrel and the bottle — those multiple years — there’s work to be done. Marketing. Networking. Leveraging other revenue streams.

While our long-term projects are often most important to us … it’s the related small wins and day-to-day efforts that sustain us along the journey.

Our goal may be over the horizon, but we have today’s footsteps to walk.

A wise friend remarked, “I’ll have to decide how I feel about that.”

Feelings happen. Sometimes they are welcome. Sometimes they catch us off guard.

But they always happen within the context of us. And that means we can make choices.

There’s a lot we can’t control, but we can control ourselves. We can decide how we feel about things.

We can let our feelings emerge as they will — but we can also consciously choose.

Sometimes, at great expense and coordination, we experience amazing things. With much effort, we place ourselves in situations that we will remember forever.

Those moments are rare. Most of our days are not individually memorable.

But it’s quite possible to find meaningful satisfaction and enjoyment in small doses every day.

A conversation with a friend. A walk with a partner. A sunrise. Quiet, meditative time alone.

Simple, not elaborate. Noteworthy, not newsworthy.

These moments can be memorable if we just allow it.

* * *

Events themselves aren’t remarkable until our mind makes them so.

An important shift happens when we move from theory to practice.

“Can you do this?”
“Sure. I can do it.”
“OK. Show me.”

There. That moment. When we move beyond telling and we take action. When our promises are given life.

It can be magical.

That shift is not compulsory — but it’s the starting point for the valuable work we do.

Once you say you can’t do it — even if it’s just spoken inside your head — you’re right.

There is no better way to assure that you can’t do something than to say it to yourself.

But of all the people who believe in you and your capabilities … shouldn’t you be first in line?

We like to make things flat and level.

But intentional slope has its place.

Roofs, gutters, roadways, and drains are all designed to direct water. Too close to level can be problematic.

Likewise, a certain amount of unevenness can keep us headed in a particular direction. Being ever so off-balance has its place.

The practice is in choosing the proper tilt.

It’s tempting to think that the professional doesn’t need to prepare. That her skills are developed such that she can arrive on scene at the top of the hour, ready to go, without much thought.

And maybe she could. (She’s a pro, after all.)

But she doesn’t.

Seasoned as she is, she still arrives early. Or she rehearses off-site. Physically, mentally, materially — whatever the job requires.

The professional’s skills allow her to work off the cuff, but a commitment to careful preparation is one of the reasons she’s a pro.

Some “what if” scenarios.

Lazy: “What if we cut this corner?”

Greedy: “What if we kept this for ourselves?”

Generous: “What if we gave this away?”

Cautious: “What if it doesn’t work?”

Creative: “What if we tried this a new way?”

Receptive: “What if we just listened?”

Bold: “What if we just go for it?”

All what-ifs are not equal. What are some what-if questions you’re asking today?

Our internal reception is ever-changing. That’s why we need to hear things more than once. It’s why we need to hear things phrased in different ways and at different times.

It’s why a truth might resonate in the afternoon when it didn’t take hold in the morning. Or later in life rather than earlier.

Sometimes, we just don’t have eyes to see or ears to hear — in that moment.

But the universe is patient with us.

Thankfully.

If you’re considering a career shift or a significant personal change, and you haven’t established the goalposts, here’s a question to consider:

Who is living a version of the life I’d like to live?

This is a practical question. It’s not about envy. It’s not about comparison. It’s a question of learning one way that a certain kind of life might be lived.

What does work look like? How is income generated? What is family life like? How do they do it?

Approaching things from a perspective of, “I’m going to do this like no one has ever done it,” is not useful. Neither is, “I’m going to do things exactly as this other person has done them.”

But we can learn from how others have designed their lives. We can learn from their journeys. And we can take or leave what we’d like.

We need not be passive. Consider the kind of life you’d like to cultivate. Explore reasonable ways that you could make it happen.

Then, go.

Knowing what’s right can be clear … but it’s often clouded by our hesitancy to change, our irrational fear of personal loss, and our reluctance to experience discomfort.

When those things are stripped away (if we’re brave enough to consider it) forward paths become illuminated.

Some topics are not nearly as complicated as the gyrations inside our head.

If you’ve ever gotten off at the wrong stop, you know the uncomfortable feeling that it prompts: “This isn’t my stop. I wasn’t supposed to get off here. I should still be on the train!”

* * *

Maybe you feel like you’ve exited a certain train too early. Don’t panic. Don’t give up. Don’t seek permanent lodging unless you want to.

The trains are still running, and you can still get back on track to see where the journey takes you.

A wild rabbit was eating a long stalk of grass as I walked by. Upon noticing me, it paused for a moment (I was just a few feet away) and then resumed chewing … but it kept its eye on me.

There’s a lesson here about caution and fear.

We can exercise caution, and still keep working.

We can be afraid, and still take care of ourselves.

Awareness of potential danger doesn’t mean we need to come to a full stop. We can make small adjustments to keep ourselves safe while still doing the work that matters.

* * *

Let’s keep our eyes open … and let’s keep chewing.