If you want to use a lighter touch, stop swinging the hammer.

If you want to make bolder marks, put away the mechanical pencil.

If you want to go slower, get out of the car.

When we want to show up in a certain way, we can help ourselves by choosing the appropriate tools.

It sounds simple enough, but sometimes we choose a tool out of habit, not based on our intentions.

I listened to some workers struggle with an installation. A half-hour job had become a two-hour job and counting.

Lots of drilling, lots of banging, lots of audible exertion.

The longer they worked, the more I thought, “I need to look really carefully at the completed job.”

Because sometimes we struggle until we get things just right.

And other times, we struggle until we give up, we cut our losses, and we try to disappear without anyone paying too much attention.

* * *

Quitting or persisting — whatever’s decided, it makes a difference which side of it you’re on. Good to exercise caution if you’re on the receiving end.

Sometimes we’re so caught up living certain roles that we don’t pause to think about how we’re living them.

Or we’ve been doing it so long, we don’t consider the possibility that we could change.

But we can if we want.

What kind of partner do I want to be?
What kind of coworker do I want to be?
What kind of leader do I want to be?
What kind of _______ do I want to be?

Even if we haven’t recently been conscious, we can choose to wake up.

We’re keenly adaptive. New tools, new situations, new challenges — we figure them out. We rise to the occasion.

But we’re not necessarily optimized for what’s new. Even what’s been designed for us might not be what we were designed for.

It creates a kind of friction.

For millennia, we observed things at nature’s pace. Scenes changed by the sun, the elements, and our own movements.

Today, we’ve learned to click, scroll, and swipe. An impatient unfolding of the next urgent thing.

We are curious seekers. But we don’t need to drown ourselves in news, data, and feeds.

A regular disconnect from the digital landscape can help us to reconnect to the physical landscape — the one that’s matched to our natural internal rhythm.

Farmlands cover what was once a bustling marketplace. Highways and towns layer atop an ancient civilization. A city blankets the original homeland of native tribes.

The change is rapid and the change is glacial. It happens in days and it happens over generations.

The surface ever modulates.

The very spot where you are has its own history.

We are part of a story that began before us and will continue long after us.

For now, this time in history — this one layer — it’s ours.

But borrowed, not owned. Changing, not fixed.

The difference between travelling by train and remaining on the platform is only one step.

Yet sometimes we hesitate.

The platform is stable. Solid. Unchanging. It gives us the illusion of control.

Meanwhile, a small shift — a matter of standing here instead of there — could open worlds and wonders.

Sometimes it doesn’t take unprecedented boldness. Sometimes a little boldness will work just fine.

I marveled at how a Japanese octogenarian used a single paper towel. She handled it with care as she cleaned. She rinsed it, hung it to dry, then repurposed it later. She repeated this cycle many times.

I asked her daughter about the practice. The explanation quickly resonated: island thinking.

Islanders have an awareness of goods and resources. Islanders are conscious of refuse … all the trash we generate has to go somewhere.

* * *

What happens when we’re more conscious of material things — what we keep and what we discard?

Instead of limitless resources and bottomless waste bins, what happens when we begin to adopt island thinking?

Trust yourself.

Not that you’ll always be right; you won’t.

But you’ll be right enough.

And you’ll be able to recover when you’re wrong.

Trust yourself.

Your voice.
Your intentions.
Your decisions.
Your desires.

Self-doubt has its value. But too much self-doubt leads to missteps and missed opportunities.

Too much self-trust leads to blindness and arrogance. But trust yourself enough, and you’ll make beautiful strides forward.

“We tried that once and it didn’t work.”

This was the phrase I heard at a recent gathering — in response to someone else’s suggestion about a possible course of action.

On its own, the comment seems ridiculous. Why did we only try it once? Did we try it the right way? Is it worth trying again?

All things to consider … particularly since the underlying problem presumably still exists.

* * *

How often do we try once and give up? How many solo-failures are recorded in the column of solutions that don’t work?

“Try, try again” is not always the wisest course of action. But don’t be too quick to dismiss what’s been tried once and abandoned. Perhaps the error was in the implementation, not in the idea itself.

For a period of time …

Not knowing more, but feeling more.

Not acting more, but responding more.

Small shifts in our posture can change the way we see the world.

The culture offers many buoys: brightly colored shiny things, visible, and floating on the surface.

They’re attractive, easy to cling to, and they’re everywhere.

But to go deeper — to think deeply, to ruminate, to meditate — we have to intentionally let go.

Tethered to the buoys, we’ll remain at the surface.

Which is fine.

But there’s much more to life if we’re willing to seek it.

“Learn how to properly merge onto the highway. Afterwards, there will be a multiple choice test.”

Or …

“Learn how to properly merge onto the highway. Afterwards, you’ll get behind the wheel and demonstrate what you’ve learned.”

The two are quite different.

Theory and practice. Paper tests and road tests. Learning to know and learning to do.

When we’re training in anticipation of imminent events, our motivation peaks and our focus sharpens.

In practice: when we really want to learn, it can help to put something on the calendar that gives us an opportunity to test our knowledge.

We can’t stay in the pages of the book; we have to get out onto the road.

Ten years ago, did you have a prediction about what today would be like?

Were you right?

And how about ten years from now? Perhaps you have an idea of how things will be then.

Will you be right?

We never really know.

What we do know is what’s now. We have that.

Today. This moment.

How will you honor it?

Words are powerful, but they can fall short.

Actions — effective as they are — can fall short too.

But that’s what we’ve got: words and actions.

So we try our best with these tools, and we lean on connection and grace to fill in the gaps.

One good question speaks louder than a dozen statements shouted.

There’s a place for assertions, certainty, and truth.

But when we lead with curiosity and the ability to change our mind, life is far less frustrating and far more extraordinary.

Allow yourself to think deeply.

Allow yourself to write poetry.

Allow yourself to create art.

Allow yourself to compose music.

Yes, countless others have trod this path. But there are more blank pages in the book, and your contribution could become one of its highlights.

After all, before the greatest works in history were created — a canon of great works existed. That is, others trusted that their own contributions were worthy of creation.

Might you be so bold, too?

Boredom can be the source of misery, or it can be the source of great creativity.

It all comes down to what we do with the boredom.

Note: distraction and entertainment are not solutions to boredom; they’re temporary escapes, impermanent remedies. And when those bandages become threadbare, boredom will be waiting (it’s infinitely patient).

The solution is not to get busy. The solution is to find the nexus of our curiosity and the edges of our capabilities.

When we visit that space, life returns to full color, and we find our place in it once again.

It’s easy to find complaint. Listen, and you will hear the various ways people have been cheated and mistreated.

The coda that’s less common is, “And so this is what I did.”

It’s the doers, the solvers, the builders, the collaborators … it’s these who deserve our attention.

Anyone can see problems. It takes virtue and character to follow up with meaningful action.

Mistakes are inevitable.

Identifying who’s at fault (particularly when it’s not us) can be a natural part of mistake management. So much so, that blame assignment can feel like the end of the process.

But when finger pointing becomes our only focus, we stunt the learning.

“What can I learn from this?” is a valuable question to ask, regardless of who’s to blame.

And if the lesson is merely, “mistakes are inevitable,” then so be it. After all, that’s a difficult lesson we have to re-learn from time to time. But with practice, we can navigate imperfection with grace.

When we begin something totally new and our skills are lacking … improvement (any improvement) is obvious. Measurable.

Because the path between terrible and adequate is well-defined and lamp-lit. During this phase of learning, developing basic techniques will pay huge dividends.

But as we improve, progress becomes less and less perceptible.

“Nothing to something” is one kind of achievement. “Very good to excellent” or “98 to 99” is quite another.

As a novice, gains are well within our grasp. With proficiency, the gains are harder won.

All the more reason to encourage yourself in both scenarios.

When you’re a beginner, delight in the learning. A banquet awaits and you can fill your plate often.

When you’re further along, don’t lose heart. Progress for you is a different kind of game. You’re fine-tuning your craft. Victories are in the nuance. At times, it might help to remind yourself of how far you’ve come.