Usually, the intense desire to quit will pass. So if you’re on a meaningful journey, it’s important to know what will get you through those moments when you want to stop, turn back, or lay down.

If you can learn to hold on in times of weakness, the storm will pass. Thankfully, mental fortitude is a skill that can be learned.

Of course, if you’re on a journey that isn’t meaningful or purpose-driven … an intense desire to quit probably shouldn’t be ignored.

It’s more than the start and stop, beginning and end.

What matters is what’s in the middle.

Consider sleep. The time between falling asleep and waking up is a mix of sleeping lightly, sleeping deeply, moments of wakefulness, and periods of dreaming.

The beginning and end are important factors, but what happens in between is of great consequence.

And so it is with life. When we’re born and when we die is significant, but what happens in between is what matters most.

You’ve still got some “in between” left. What will you do with it?

Public speaking. There are excellent lessons, workshops, coaches, and programs.

But compared to how often we have opportunities to speak in public, how many opportunities do we have to listen?

I wonder what might happen if we invested just as much effort in learning how to listen as we do in learning how to speak.

When we’re hungry, we can feel it. There’s a growling. A craving. A restlessness.

Even when we don’t recognize the cue, hunger reveals itself in our mood, our energy, and our feelings of satisfaction. We sometimes have to remind ourselves: oh, I haven’t eaten.

And it’s not just food.

We experience creative hunger too.

We’re hard-wired to be problem-solvers and makers. Creativity is in our DNA.

When those feelings of discomfort come, the fix might not be in the kitchen — it might be in the studio.

Not in consumption, but in production.

In a foot race, you’re unlikely to notice who’s cheering and who’s not. Either way, you wouldn’t stop to investigate.

But when the pace is slower, there’s more time to think. More time to wonder. More time to consider what’s happening in the spectator gallery.

That’s when self-doubt can begin to take root.

Learn from the fleet-footed runners. Have ears for encouragement, but remember that the most reliable motivation is already inside you.

“At this point in time”
“The fact of the matter is”
“Quite frankly”
“At the end of the day”
“The bottom line is”
“Let me be very clear”

As much as you can, avoid these phrases. They’re hesitation devices. Phrases to buy you time or to make you sound more authoritative.

But they’re filler, and we don’t need filler.

Be bold. Go straight for the content. You don’t need to clear your throat, and your words don’t need any fluffing.

My son, Oliver, was feeling a little nervous about an upcoming event. My wife’s advice to him was perfect.

“If you get nervous while you’re there, take a deep breath and say to yourself — just inside your head — ‘My name is Oliver St. Amant … and I am OK.’”

It’s some of the best advice I can imagine. Not just for second-graders. For all of us.

Remind yourself of who you are. Affirm that all is well.

If you’re seeking openness and honesty in others, model being open and honest.

We sometimes forget the power of taking the first step, but a little vulnerability can go a long way in fostering connection.

Just be sure to give it time. Connection happens at its own pace.

Create enough moments in your life where you can hear a light rainfall.

It’s a subtle sound.

If your walls are too thick, or there’s too much noise, or you never venture from comfort, you’ll miss the beauty of gentle rains.

Nature is persistent; it will be heard eventually.

But you don’t have to wait for storms and downpours to listen.

“It won’t be perfect. You might not even thing it’s good at times.
But it will be good enough.
And it might not turn out like what you see in your mind.
No. In fact, it won’t be like what you see in your mind.
Sometimes that’s frustrating.
But keep working. It will come.
Look closely, and notice what you notice.
In the beginning, don’t press so hard.
But once you think you’ve got something right, be confident.”

* * *

This is the consolidated advice that I gave to my seven-year-old son as he worked to draw a self-portrait.

I share it here because the advice has applications far beyond drawing.

The phrase “running around in circles” is often meant to convey action without achievement.

But the context matters.

You can get in really good shape with all that running.

Just because you’re not sprinting in a singular direction doesn’t mean you’re not doing meaningful work.

Keep those legs going.

If you’re worried that you’re wasting time … you are wasting time.

So stop.

Worrying is a way of practicing failure, and you don’t need that kind of practice.

You’re ready. Go about the work you’re meant to do. No delay necessary.

As I drove through the city, I wanted to retrieve an item from a bag in the passenger seat. I found myself hoping that one of the traffic lights would turn red to give me an opportunity to take my eyes off the road.

The thought that followed was a bit of self-admonition. “What’s wrong with you? If you want to stop, stop. You don’t need a traffic light to prompt the pause.”

How easily we get caught up in the movement of the system. How easily we find ourselves running because everyone around us is running.

But we don’t need the system’s permission to adjust our pace. We don’t.

When we need to pause, we can make that choice ourselves.

Cultural anthropologist Margaret Mead said, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

In the face of all the big problems in this world, it’s easy to forget our ability to work together to achieve great change.

Remember that it doesn’t take everyone.

Small, thoughtful groups have done it before. Small, thoughtful groups will do it again.

You can even be part of one.

The story goes that Zig Ziglar approached the front desk at a fully booked hotel. A manager politely explained that there were no rooms available.

Zig: “If the president of the United States were to walk through the door and say, ‘I want a room,’ would you have one for him?”

Manager: “Well of course. If the president of the United States were to come in here, I’d have a room for him.”

Zig: “You can take my word. The president is not coming. Can I have his room?”

Sometimes asking clever questions is a better strategy than making harsh demands.

One of the many things I appreciate about my physician is that she always ends an appointment by asking, “Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?”

She doesn’t rush patients out the door; she’s curious and attentive. As a result, there are times when she’s slightly behind schedule. That flexibility is a result of her generosity.

Not all systems are as flexible.

At the end of a long day in Nuremberg, my colleagues and I made our way to a train that would take us back to our hotel. As we neared the platform, we noticed a train about to depart.

Wanting desperately to get us all onto that train — and not the next train arriving ten minutes later — I sprinted down the steps, across the platform, and I put my foot in the doors just before they finished closing.

The train was unsympathetic.

Unlike an elevator whose sensitive doors offer a flexibility in departure, this train was leaving on time.

With my foot.

Slightly panicked, I hopped along with the departing train and was just barely able to yank my shoe free before being dragged away.

I learned my lesson.

* * *

Whether we choose to be flexible depends on who’s being served and whose needs are a priority. Sometimes flexibility is worth it. Other times, keeping to the plan is what serves the majority most effectively.

It’s not the apology that makes things better. It’s the change that follows.

Without change, apologies are hollow courtesies. Artificial resolutions.

But with change, an apology becomes a meaningful turning point.

The next time you apologize, honor the change that ought to follow.

The conventional advice is to not look in the rearview mirror.

Eyes ahead. Focus on what’s next. Don’t dwell upon the past.

But this advice is not the same as “don’t look behind you.”

Because looking behind you can be useful. Things can approach from behind. It could be danger, but it could be help, too.

And sometimes it’s someone who’s following in your footsteps. In those moments, you’re in a prime position to be a generous guide.

“How are you?”

As often and casually as it’s asked, it’s actually a complicated question. Particularly when we consider aperture and placement.

How wide of a window are we addressing? Right now? A few hours? Days? Months? More?

And where is that window situated? Does it capture the past few hours? The next few hours? The past season? The future?

Is this a question of physical health? Or is it emotional, spiritual, and mental too?

(It’s no wonder that, “fine,” and “pretty good,” are common responses.)

So often, we gauge how we are based on what’s happening in the moment, but that’s a painfully narrow peek.

What happens when we consider a much longer arc? Or the richness of possibility? How are we then?

It’s generally not useful to have unreasonable expectations.

But it is useful to have unreasonable expectations in some areas.

We call that dreaming.

Be strategically unreasonable — allow yourself to dream — then back it up with a lot of dedicated effort.