A pentimento is a minor change in a painting — an artist’s adjustment of the composition or gesture. Sometimes the change can be seen though barely visible clues, and sometimes the change is only discovered using infra-red light or X-rays.

The conceptual beauty of a pentimento is the idea of self-editing. Stepping back, evaluating what you’ve done, what you’ve made, what you’ve planned, what you’ve accomplished... and making a shift. A correction. A minor adjustment.

The change might be invisible to the casual observer. Or perhaps traces of the shift will be evident upon close inspection. Minor clues. Subtle scars.

No matter. The work of a master bears these corrections with skill and grace.

We live in a world of filters, makeup, and costume. Strategic angles and careful lighting.

When it’s overdone or clumsy, I like to joke, “Your profile picture has something in common with mine: neither one looks like you.”

Photo filters are quite common. It won't be long before we see optional audio-enhancing filters on phones. Why not make your voice sweeter, deeper, or more buttery-sounding in order to match your digitally smoothed skin and portrait-optimized lighting?

All fine. Filter as much as you’d like.

However, don't forget that there can be beauty in uniqueness. Allure in what’s slightly different.

Recall some of the iconic beauty marks throughout history. The radio voices with a signature vocal fry. Singers with a telltale inflection. Writers with a notable, unusual style.

Filters can be great. But be careful about filtering yourself into a beautiful, yet unremarkable average.

After a tense interaction, do you replay it in your mind? Do you “re-live” it, in a sense that your emotions return to the state that they were during the unpleasant experience?

Have the presence to stop yourself. Take a few deep breaths. Consider why the interaction troubled you so much. More importantly, consider this: does it help to obsess over the interaction? Does continuing to recall the details make things better?

Probably not. So if replaying it doesn’t help, what will?

In setting a buffet, it’s a good idea to take a walk-through as though you are a guest trying to compose a plate of food.

When you do this, you’ll quickly realize whether there’s a missing serving spoon, or an incomplete selection of utensils.

If you have to reach over a lit candle to pick up a dinner roll, you’ll notice right away.

If you need two hands use the salad tongs, but you have nowhere to temporarily set your plate, you’ll quickly see the problem.

If you’re going to entertain guests, become one while you prepare the space. Thoughtful planning on your part will make things seem effortless for everyone else.

For most outdoor sports, a little bit of rain doesn’t cause the game to be cancelled. If it continues... if it gets really wet... if it starts to pour... there might be a delay. Even a postponement.

But that initial bit of rain doesn’t cause an immediate cancellation.

When you’re serious about something — when you have discipline and a sense of purpose — you don’t look for the start of rain. You don’t seek out an excuse to delay or quit.

You don’t hope for the circumstances that cancel a project or an event.

No. You show up and you get to work.

* * *

When you’re tired. When no one helps. When the rain falls.

Don’t quit.

The good work that you’re meant to do: do it — even if you have to do it tired, alone, and in the rain.

And if you are waiting for excuses to cancel, it might be time to reevaluate whether it’s worth your time at all.

We can spend a lot of time thinking about who we are. Fill out any kind of application, and you’ll be tasked with telling the story of “you” through the lens of check boxes and form fields. Your history, your present... all tidy bits of data.

But what about your future?

Set aside the notion of “what you are” for a moment.

Consider instead: what are you becoming?

In the United States, it’s somewhat common to be asked, “What do you do?” or even “What do you do for a living?”

Some years back, I attended a lecture by poet Kim Stafford, who explained that in some Spanish-speaking countries, it’s more common to ask, “¿a qué te dedicas?”

The interpretation is perhaps the same. Google translates the meaning as, “What do you do?” but the nuance it misses is in dedicare: to dedicate.

“To what do you dedicate yourself?”

Here, the cashier might reply, “I paint.”

Here, the sanitation worker might reply, “I play the guitar.”

Here, the question is about what’s born of heart and passion… which is not always the same as the activity that pays the bills.

Nothing helps you to appreciate a task more than doing that task yourself for the first time. For example…

• cleaning a toilet

• doing the laundry

• arranging chairs in a conference hall

• checking math homework

• coaching sports

• driving a school bus

• drafting equitable policy

• serving peak hours while understaffed

• managing customer complaints

When you do the task — when you learn what it takes, and you experience the particular challenges first-hand — you gain a visceral appreciation for what you might have previously taken for granted. You’ll be grateful for jobs well-done, and perhaps a little less critical when things aren’t quite up to scratch.

There are times when things seem completely awry and you’ll wonder, “How did we get here?”

Relationships. Politics. Business. Career. Even hobby and sport.

But if you question the situation while still travelling at great speed, then it’s often merely rhetoric. Useless musing.

If you don’t make an effort to stop, to slow down, or to intentionally change direction, you’ll always be saying stuff like, “How did we get here?”

And eventually, no one will take you seriously when you ask the question.

Bucket lists are fairly common these days, and they’re great — a defined list of the things you’d like to experience and accomplish before you die.

But checking the boxes on that list might take weeks, months, or more often, years.

So, what about the things you’d like to experience and accomplish today? Not before you die, but before you go to sleep tonight? Before today dies?

Chip away at that remarkable bucket list. But be intentional about today, too. Set some meaningful goals for this day, and make it worthy of the extraordinary life you intend to lead.

The first time you say, “I’m sorry,” it can be powerful.

The second time you say, “I’m sorry,” — especially for having repeated the same offense — it forever re-contextualizes the first time you apologized.

And the third time reveals that you’re not really sorry at all; you just regret the disconnect between your actions and what’s expected of you.

The most beautiful moments in life are often the most evanescent.

• when the sunset rakes across the landscape and the world becomes a living painting

• the overwhelming feeling of gratitude during an intimate moment with someone we love

• a musical chord that resonates in just the right way

• the last, and best bite of a delicious meal, where all the flavors are balanced just so

• the feeling of an infant’s tiny, loving grasp

• a Proustian smell that awakens a joyful childhood memory

While these moments are fleeting, they can still be kept on the bedside table of our memory, within easy reach, for a quiet moment of pause where they can do their job of easing our worries and warming our heart.

If there’s a golf club you can never hit quite right... If there’s a hand plane that never produces the desired surface... If there’s a pen whose line is always inadequate... If there’s a pair of scissors that cuts terribly...

Take it out of the bag. Remove it from the toolbox.

* * *

And if there’s a kind of response that you have to certain situations... A way of dealing with an employee... A way of speaking to a child who isn’t listening... A way of processing a personal setback...

If there’s a “tool” that you apply to these situations — a tool that never quite works the way you’d like it to... A tool that never yields the result you’re seeking…

Take it out of the bag. Find a better tool. A better response. A better way.

Don’t stick with what doesn’t work.

As I arrived home with my eight-year-old son, a neighbor waived to us and said, “Hey! What’s up?” In the context of us being across the street from each other, and each of us heading toward our front doors, “Hey!” (with a wave) was quite an appropriate reply.

My son waved, but did not say anything. I tried to correct him: “Say ‘hello’ next time.”

“But Dad, ‘Hi,’ doesn’t answer his question. He asked, ‘What’s up?’ and I was thinking about it.”

For me, it’s a good lesson. Sure, there are plenty of times that we pass a friend or acquaintance and say, “What’s up?” or, “How are ya?” and what we really mean is, “Hello!”

But it’s not too far of a stretch for us to be at a dinner party or a one-on-one where we offer a “How are you?” without really meaning it.

To connect — to really connect — we might be careful about those chatty questions and replies.

There are times when a heartfelt, “How are you?” — said intentionally — can change the trajectory of someone’s day, or much more.

Consider the amount of energy it takes for a person to tread water. The swimmer remains vertical, keeping her head above water by moving her arms and legs.

When one treads water, there is little directional movement. For the most part, the swimmer stays in the same place.

But, if the swimmer — using the same amount of energy it takes to tread — if that swimmer adjusts her motion ever so slightly, to create a bit of propulsion, she can begin to move in a particular direction.

* * *

Sometimes we’re stuck in a project, or in a career. Sometimes we think, “I have no options. I’m treading, keeping my head above water. It’s all I can do.”

Maybe so. But if we can’t outright swim... and there’s no rescue boat in sight... (that is, we feel like we can’t just quit and do something else) then perhaps we can make small efforts to tread with direction. We can move toward something. We can chart a path.

We might not know if we’re choosing the right path, of course, but we know what will result from treading in the same place: more treading in the same place.

It’s so tempting to compare ourselves to others. To see who is achieving the goals we also seek to achieve.

But the person who is closer than you to the milestone you’re eyeing... the person that’s over the horizon already... That person started her race before you. Or maybe she’s just faster. Or maybe she started somewhere else, and she is merely crossing your intended path.

But she is not you, and she’s not running your race; she’s running her own race.

* * *

There are people ahead of you, and people behind you. People next to you, too. Everyone has a different pace, and a different journey.

Catching up to the person out in front is a fruitless goal: there’s always someone else even farther ahead. And if you rest thinking you’re well ahead of the pack — that’s a useless comparison too. Besides: bringing yourself to a full stop can make it difficult to begin again.

So don’t compare. Just run your own race. After all, you are the only one who can run it, and it was designed just for you.

In business, in relationships, in life — there are lots of problems to solve.

Some of those problems are big, some are small.

Occasionally, fixing some of the small problems can help lessen the burden of the large problems (sometimes, they're part of an interconnected network).

However, there are plenty of small problems that sit off by themselves. You could spend all of your energy fixing those small problems without having any effect on the big ones.

This has little to do with how much energy you expend, how dedicated you are, or how expertly you work.

It has to do with where you apply your efforts.

If you’re always busy and never really getting much done, take a look at the types of problems you’re solving.

“What do you want?”

The question is an abrasive one. If verbalized, it can seem offensive.

And yet it’s the question we should have in our minds as we interact.

“What do you want?”

It’s something to ponder as someone speaks to us. As someone tells us a story.

Meaning, I want to understand your needs. I want to know how I can help. Do you want…

• my attention?

• my advice?

• my opinion?

• my laughter?

• my approval?

• my reassurance?

• my forgiveness?

• my pity?

• my support?

• my discouragement?

It’s an affront to ask these outright. But by trying to tune into what someone is seeking, it helps us to respond in a way that is compassionate and helpful.

When someone says, “I don’t really read,” take pause.

Reading can be a signal. It can often point to how someone engages with the culture.

Not reading is like running freely with your eyes closed. It’s not a problem if you’re out in open space — if you’re not navigating a landscape filled with obstacles or other people. It might even be beautiful and freeing to do this, or to observe it (both literally and figuratively).

But by reading, one explores a more complete landscape. One learns of the dancers. One sees how the machines operate.

And in doing so, one can engage with the culture more effectively. More intentionally.

Don’t just watch.

Read.

The moralizing driver — the person whose gift to traffic is impeding the late-merger, or the driver on the shoulder — the moralizing driver doesn’t always know the full story. The reason for the other driver’s actions.

Even so — even if the offending driver is in the wrong — it’s hard to teach lessons through a rear-view mirror and two windshields.

It’s usually not worth the effort.