As one year ends, we often consider what we will commit to doing regularly in the coming year.

Here’s a consideration: how often will we recommit when we falter?

When gym attendance dips in February, will we reset and be present once again in March?

When an intention to meditate turns into “I haven’t meditated for a week” do we have the resolve to begin again?

When we try to quit smoking, is the jig up with the first cigarette?

We can have a confident January-One mentality at any point in the year, even if we’ve gotten off track along the way. No need to wait until the next New Year rolls around. We can recommit right away.

Sometimes, in order to know what’s happening, seeing the message delivered is not enough; you have to see how it’s received, too.

I drove past a man who was pointing at a woman and yelling. It seemed like a fight was occurring.

But then, I saw the woman laughing and nodding her head.

What initially seemed like an altercation was more likely a person telling an amusing story of someone losing his temper.

The delivery told a partial story. It was the reception that brought some clarity to the interaction.

And with us, too, it’s not just our words that matter; it’s the way they’re received that completes the story.

Last night, my dinner was better than normal. The food was excellent, but it was the service that made the difference.

The restaurant staff was so genuinely friendly and so thoughtful in their customer engagement that the meal had little chance to be anything but delicious.

As I reflect upon it, the most enjoyable elements of the experience were the parts that were voluntary. A warm smile. A kind suggestion. An expression of curiosity.

Those extra pieces — what seemed to be improvisation — were what turned a good meal into a memorable experience.

* * *

When we go beyond what’s required, we create a kind of magic that sticks in the mind.

When we’re well-prepared and well-rehearsed, we can become almost too comfortable with the material.

On those occasions, it’s tempting to rush through to the end.

But have patience for yourself. For your own material.

You know the speech, the slide deck, and the lyrics ... but others are experiencing them for the first time. Let them be with it fully, at the pace that’s best suited for the message.

Over time, we don’t get better at predicting the future. It’s not a skill we can learn.

The future will always contain uncertainty.

But we can change our relationship with uncertainty. We can change our ability to navigate what we cannot predict. And we can change the way we think about our decisions and the ultimate outcomes.

While we can’t predict the future, we can develop a posture that will help us to live in that world of uncertainty — even to thrive in it.

The finest ingredients in the world are little match for a sub-par recipe.

The recipe always has a stronger pull over how things will turn out ... be it positive or negative.

* * *

Our greatest challenge, then — and our most worthy task — is figuring out what to do with what we have.

It’s gift-giving season in many parts of the world. What a wonderful opportunity to be mindful of all the hands involved in design, manufacturing, delivery, and service.

When we receive a gift that delights us, it’s not only the giver who has contributed ... it’s countless others who have worked in the background.

A.J. Jacobs writes about this very thing in his book Thanks a Thousand, which chronicles his endeavor to thank every person involved in producing his morning cup of coffee — from farmer, to scientist, to truck driver, to designer, to barista, and everyone in between.

A simple cup of coffee exists because of efforts stretching across the globe. May our own gratitude in all things be stretched as far and as wide.

Yesterday, I hung some holiday lights on the front porch of our home.

Years ago, when the weather was warm, I spent a few hours carefully installing special metal clips on the fascia board above our porch. Ever since, hanging holiday lights has been a simple task.

The experience prompted me to consider some bigger questions:

• What am I doing today that will help my future self?

• How can I thoughtfully create something that will be an ongoing benefit?

• What assets am I taking time to cultivate?

• How can I be smart today ... such that I’ll be grateful tomorrow?

Doing something properly one time can often pave a smooth road for years to come.

There’s a myth about passion that says it’s something that we find. That we can sample various activities and within one of them, we will find our passion.

Not true.

Passion is within. It’s something we bring to what we do, not something given to us through a perfectly matched activity.

We don’t need to look for our passion. We just need to be passionate.

Some people say, “I’m not talented,” when what they really mean is, “I don’t have skills,” or “I don’t have good ideas.”

Here’s the truth: none of those three statements is ever true.

When two young siblings receive wrapped gifts, it’s not long after opening them that the question is exchanged, “What did you get?”

It’s just as likely to happen when dessert is served. Whose slice of pie is bigger? Mine or yours?

The trouble is, as adults, we can do the same thing.

Is my share as big as yours? Does the world treat one of us more kindly? Is your job easier than mine? Have you gotten better breaks than me?

This rabbit hole is deep.

What’s worse, it distracts us from focusing on our own potential. It limits our ability to be grateful. Our own gardens begin to wilt as we obsess over what’s been planted in someone else’s soil.

* * *

Said another way: gratitude is experienced most fully when it’s not wrapped in comparison.

When things go awry, we have a choice between “make do” and “make known”.

Some of us work within unexpected constraints and produce magic with what we have. And things often appear to have been planned all along.

Others like to make it known that some problem has occurred. Someone has screwed up, or nature has happened, and “here’s all we could come up with.”

Thing is, we can often make do without drawing attention to all the hurdles we’ve masterfully navigated.

And the people who make do in this quiet way … they’re more likely than not to “make beautiful” while they’re at it.

Today marks my 500th daily blog post. I’ve been looking forward to this milestone as a kind of badge of honor, but the closer I’ve come to it, the less I’ve been interested in it.

500 posts is not a goal. It never was. This activity of shipping daily, of trying to be generous with creativity, of trying to speak something of value into the world ... this an ongoing practice. It’s a commitment to a particular posture.

It’s often said: it’s about the journey, not the destination.

Here’s my take: we have an opportunity to enjoy the act of journeying ... to experience the rewards of leaning into who we are and how we hope to be in this world. And that’s to play an infinite game where the joy isn’t found at the end of a long road. Rather, we can find joy daily, and even carry it with us as we go.

I watched a car slow its pace. It meandered with some uncertainty. The brake lights illuminated near every cross street.

A frustrated driver who was closely following the lead car leaned into his horn. Beeeeeeeep.

Some considerations:

Does this kind of honking ever work? Does it ever help someone to find their way? Does it ever bring clarity to the situation? Does mere honking on these occasions effect positive change?

(If you’re reading this as a metaphor, that’s a fine thing to do.)

When an athlete gets to the game unprepared, it’s obvious.

When you don’t have the team jersey, or a water bottle, it’s clear to you and others: you don’t have with you what you need.

But there are other things we forget — inside and outside of sport — that are not as apparent.

A positive attitude. Empathy. A spirit of cooperation. Patience.

When you get to the locker room without your gear, you know you’ve made a mistake. You know what you have to correct.

Much harder to recognize that you’ve shown up to the conference without patience. Or that you’ve arrived at the office without empathy.

Putting a gym bag by the front door will help you to remember your critical equipment. The challenge is figuring out how to remember all those invisible things that are just as important.

Digital filters are everywhere.

Photo filters are the norm. Video can be easily filtered in real-time. Vocal filters and voice-changers are a thing too.

These settings are all at our fingertips. Press a button, apply a filter.

What we don’t have, however, is a button to push to make our ideas better.

We can’t simply apply effects to an idea to make it some version of beautiful.

Ideation and innovation still need our intellectual and emotional commitment. We haven’t automated, “make my idea better.” That’s still going to take the magic that’s born of the creative process.

There’s a beautiful quality to a densely layered oil painting. It has nuance and variation. Physical richness. Even the highest quality printing process cannot replicate the layered luminosity created through glazes and scumbling.

Longtime friendships are like this. They have a particular depth and presence that cannot be duplicated. Strong bonds built over time ... through closeness and distance, joy and sadness, and everything between.

Friendships like these ... cherish them like a priceless work of art.

Writing daily gives me an opportunity to be more conscious of my style and my habits.

I tend to use lots of commas, ellipses, and dashes in order to hint at how I’d say the text aloud.

I’ve noticed that some phrases are frequent flyers too, like the words “of course”. I typically say “of course” when I mean, “this may be obvious, but it’s worth pointing out explicitly.”

There’s some irony here. In a literal sense, “of course” means “of the ordinary course of events” or “according to the expected program or path”. Meanwhile, I’m more inclined to encourage us to step off the path — to be off course — or at least to consider how we can create change by flirting with what’s near the guardrail, or even beyond it.

It took me three weeks to get on a plumber’s schedule. When he arrived at my house, I said, “Wow. You guys are really busy.”

His reply was telltale and flat: “‘s because no one wants to do this kind of work.”

Implied, of course, was that he didn’t want to do it either.

I don’t blame him. Plumbing work can be foul, complicated, and physically demanding. But I couldn’t help considering the story this plumber tells himself: “I’m stuck doing a job no one else wants to do.”

Years ago, I knew another plumber whose attitude was quite different. Same jobs, same customers, but a different mindset. His was, “I’m an everyday hero. People have a problem, and I have the skill-set and mental toughness to fix it. Maybe not glamorous, but absolutely critical.”

I can’t speak for the happiness of either plumber, but one carried his tool bags as though they were twice as heavy.

Many old medicine cabinets have a slot in the back that says “used blades”.

For me, this tells a hopeful story. That one generation’s solution for dull razor blades was to drop them into a wall cavity, and that a newer generation finds the obsolete practice ridiculous and dangerous.

No, we haven’t solved all the world’s problems ... even when it comes to disposable razors. But we can change our ways. It often takes innovation and cultural shifts, but we can change.

We can see what prior generations have done, and we can make better decisions. That we no longer fill our walls with hazardous trash ... that’s one small example of forward progress.

Much has been done, but there is so much left to do.