If telling people you’re going to do something adds tension — if it helps to keep you accountable and makes it more likely that you’ll do the thing — then tell people.

If telling people you’re going to do something relieves tension — if it buys you time and gives you the false sense of having made actual progress — then don’t tell people what you’re going to do. Instead, just go do it.

When we’re focused on improving something, we often aim high. We say things like, “We’re going to make this ten times better.”

But how do you measure ten times better? How much better is the best cake you’ve ever eaten ... compared to a really good cake? Surely not ten times better. Is it even twice as good? Maybe it’s the best because it’s just enough better than all the others.

The point is not to lower our ambition, but to change our approach to the problem of making things better.

One thought: improve a specific number of things. “Compared to what already exists, we’re going to improve upon these three elements.”

Another approach: become laser-focused. “We will take this one part and make it better than anything on the market.”

“Ten times better” is lofty, but it’s not a practical way to make measurable progress; it just sounds really good.

Finish the phrase: “I’m an agent of _______.”

There are so many possibilities. Empowerment. Design. Curiosity. Justice. Compliance. Control. Love. Generosity. Calm. Pragmatism. Anxiety.

Wherever you go, and whatever you do, how do you choose to fill in the blank?

Where are you growing? Where are you learning?

We don’t learn by wrapping ourselves in the safety of our already-mastered skills. We learn through experimentation, stumbling, and mistakes.

Adopt a beginner’s mind. Get comfortable with being uncomfortable. Embrace the idea of being a clumsy student.

Do this, and be ready for remarkable growth.

We can’t say, “Sorry, I don’t make the rules,” and be done with it.

We can’t say, “It’s the fault of previous generations,” and then move on.

We can’t say, “Let’s just call it even,” if it’s not actually even.

* * *

If we live or work in an unfair, unjust system — locally or globally, personally or publicly — the onus is upon us to do what we can to fix it … even if it’s just a small step in the right direction.

And if we happen to be (through some bit of dumb luck) on the side that benefits from an unfair system, then our job is not to enjoy the perks. Our job — our responsibility — is to work intentionally to right the wrongs.

Despite our stark external differences, our human connection runs deep.

Love. Desire. Joy. Pain. Sorrow.

In a sense, the more personal ... the more universal.

Don’t think so much about what you can create from scratch. Think instead about what you can change. Think about what you can iterate.

Nothing you create is completely original. Everything has its source or its influence. So what can you curate? What can you do differently? What can you make better? What can you recreate in your own voice? What can you re-spin or mash-up or re-think?

Setting a goal to create something from nothing is a surefire way to get stuck; that’s too much pressure.

But taking something one step further? Surely you can do that. And then you can do it again.

I took care of some pressure washing chores yesterday. When I was finished, I began to disassemble the machine for storage.

Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t disconnect the handle from the hose. Hands sore and raw, I went inside to get a pair of locking pliers.

As I began to use the tool, something occurred to me. I pulled the trigger on the washer’s handle and a great burst of water and air shot from the nozzle.

With the pressure released, I could disconnect all the parts easily.

* * *

At times, pressure is useful. But other times, it makes simple tasks unnecessarily difficult.

When things aren’t working out, it’s worth considering the pressure levels. Perhaps there’s not enough to do what’s required. But it’s possible, too, that the real need is for all the pressure to be released.

Worth considering how we go about doing that.

In sports, it helps to have a short memory.

Made a costly error? Best to let it go and to focus on the next play. Learn from the mistake, but don’t dwell upon it. The game isn’t over, so focus on what’s next.

It’s the same with many things in life. Handled something poorly? Short memory. Let it go. Learn from it, but don’t remain with it.

Focus on what’s now and what’s next. There’s plenty of game left to play.

As the saying goes, “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t force it to drink.”

But the saying doesn’t include the story’s conclusion: the horse will drink ... eventually.

In the meantime, it’s no use yelling at the horse. Shaming it. Telling the horse that it’s lazy. Pointing out how all the other horses are drinking. Feeling anxious because the horse isn’t doing what you want it to do.

So between the time you lead a horse to water and the time it drinks, be patient. Quietly encourage without frustration.

You led the horse to water because of generosity. As you stand by the water’s edge, remember that true generosity is patient. It creates opportunity without demanding outcome.

It’s an act of love that leads a horse. And it’s an act of love that waits for the horse to be ready.

We must know, too, that when it is ready … the horse may seek waters unfamiliar to us.

As we learn about different people, we develop mental taxonomies — generalizations at their most benign, prejudices at their worst.

It’s not rational, but we file away experiences and effortlessly draw upon them when we encounter someone new.

Consciously or not, we’re reading clues.

How are they dressed? How do they style their hair? Where do they live? What kind of car do they drive? How do they speak? What do they do for work? Who are their friends?

Two things to keep in mind. One, the clues may be completely misleading. Two — based on what we seek to know — we may be reading all the wrong clues.

We can’t have meaningful experiences while we’re physically distant. Until we can.

And we can’t connect with students while wearing masks in the classroom. Until we can.

And we can’t teach effectively using remote, online platforms. Until we can.

And we can’t figure out how to thrive in a pandemic. Until we can.

And we can’t get past the idea of things being cancelled and the world turning upside down. Until we can.

We can choose to shine through any moment in history, but our most remarkable brilliance is revealed during times of great change.

I saw some photos of a house where the owner had installed manufactured wood flooring ... on the ceiling.

The effect was unmistakable: it looked like there was manufactured wood flooring on the ceiling.

* * *

Sometimes the whole is exactly the sum of its parts and nothing more.

When design is at its best, elements work together to elevate the whole. The viewer is delighted and changed — at times even unknowingly.

When design is clumsy, the viewer’s attention is pulled backwards from experience and into the production phase ... questioning the designer’s choices.

What was intended as innovation ends up reading as blunder.

When we’re facing insurmountable challenges, our thought may be, “Please — remove this mountain.”

But let it more often be, “I’m ready. Teach me to climb.”

Occasionally, we face big decisions that will affect our future.

But more frequent are the small decisions that we make every day.

And those daily decisions — when strung together — pave the pathway that is our future.

Small, intentional, daily choices have massive impact in the long run.

We spend a lot of time mulling over the big decisions, but the small decisions we make every day can be just as consequential.

For kids, it can be one of the best questions they’re asked: “Wanna play?”

It represents inclusion, friendship, fun, and possibility.

As adults, we have ways of tapping into that magic, too.

• “Hey. We’re going over here. Wanna come?”

• “I’m forming a group. Do you want to be a part of it?”

• “We’re all going to do this thing together. Are you interested?”

We don’t outgrow our need to belong or our desire to be invited.

But the questions don’t ask themselves. We need to actively seek out the others, and then voice our version of asking: “Wanna play?”

What assets do you own?

What can use, rent, or borrow?

Where do you have access?

What can you have if you just ask?

* * *

At times, we have what we need (or we can get it) but we’ve convinced ourselves that a few critical elements are still missing.

But that might not be true. We might have enough. More than enough, even.

So what’s holding you back?

In a drawing class years ago, I met a student from another university who had joined the course as an elective.

“I’m an Accounting major, but I thought I’d take a break and dabble around in drawing this semester.”

I replied, “What a coincidence! I’m an art major, but I thought I’d take a break and dabble around in Accounting this semester.”

* * *

At the time, ego determined my sarcastic mental response. “I take this seriously. Who are you to enter into my practice in such a casual and condescending way?”

Since then, my perspective has shifted. I embrace dabbling. Thrashing. Testing.

One person’s vocation is another person’s hobby. One person’s profession is another person’s weekend diversion.

Faced with a similar situation today, I’d reply, “That’s great! I can’t wait to see how your Accounting perspective influences the way you approach drawing.”

And I’d mean it, too.

Introversion and extroversion are not about whether we’re shy or outgoing. They’re about our sensitivity to stimulation and how our energy levels are affected by social interaction. Susan Cain offers a beautiful way of thinking about this (as relayed by Simon Sinek).

Introverts wake up in the morning with five coins. With every social interaction they spend a coin. At the end of the day, they feel depleted.

Extroverts wake up in the morning with no coins. With every social interaction they gain a coin. At the end of the day, they feel rich.

Not only is this a useful framework for understanding our own introversion or extroversion, it’s useful in better understanding our friends, family members, and colleagues.

“They make a great pizza. It’s amazing. Except on Thursdays; it’s terrible on Thursdays.”

That doesn’t work, does it?

We seek consistency.

And if we seek consistency, then we should seek to be consistent — consistent in our character, in our actions, in our work, in the way we show up for others — consistent. Even on Thursdays.