The tricky part about being your best self is that it hasn’t happened yet.

The best version you know of … is not as good as what could be this very moment. Or the next.

Your best self is not in the past. It’s now, and it will be in the future too.

When kids draw a picture, they want to show you.

When they learn a song on an instrument, they want to play it for you.

When they pick up a new skill, they want to demonstrate it.

It’s completely natural. Learn and share. “Look what I can do!”

But as we get older, we become more self-conscious. More aware of how we compare to others. More hesitant to seek an audience.

Reconnect with that child-like wonder. Share your imperfect attempts. Not with offhanded self-deprecation, but with beginner’s delight.

There’s no shame in learning. Quite the opposite.

The lead vehicle in the Boston Marathon shows runners the route. That’s how it supports the athletes: showing the front of the pack where they need to run, turn by turn.

But wouldn’t it be even more helpful to just put those elite runners in the back of the truck and to carry them? They could all go a lot faster and it would guarantee no one would get lost.

And of course, giving a ride would not help at all. The whole point is to run, not ride.

* * *

There are many times when giving more help is no help at all. Many times when our challenge is to offer sufficient support and no more.

It’s hard. Because we often like to think that the more we can help, the better.

But that’s not always true. Sometimes “enough” is just right.

It might not be a problem of time, energy, or resources.

It might be that we just need a prompt to begin.

An invitation.

A countdown.

So here it is:

3 …

2 …

1 …

Go.

(What will you do now that the moment has arrived?)

I walked to my car awkwardly carrying a few bags and a cup of coffee. As I walked, I made sure the coffee mug was securely gripped. The bags would be fine if they dropped. The coffee, not so much.

When carrying two things, recognize whether one is fragile. If you stumble, you might have to choose which one to protect, and you might have to choose quickly.

If you’d like to see this as a big metaphor, you can.

From LinkedIn’s automated suggestions: “Congratulate so-and-so for starting a new position as x at y.”

I like the idea of acknowledging friends, colleagues, and connections for landing new jobs.

But I think it would be just as reasonable to have a prompt to congratulate people for leaving positions. To congratulate them for walking away at the right time. To congratulate them for taking a leap out rather than a leap in.

Because walking away can be just as brave and praiseworthy as landing a new position.

The people who can think big are not always the people who can do big.

And the people who can “do” are not always the people who can think.

Yes, there are times we can do both. But magical things can happen when the thinkers and doers come together. When innovation meets production. When ideation meets activation.

Said another way: when our strengths and weaknesses are paired with others who are quite the opposite.

I smile every time I hear this story:

A kindergarten teacher was watching a young boy draw. She was completely befuddled by what he was drawing and said, “What are you drawing, John?”

And the boy said, “I’m drawing God.”

And the teacher said, “Well how can you draw God? No one knows what God looks like.”

And he said, “If you give me a minute, I’ll show you.”

Listen to Chris Staley tell it. Chris is a brilliant human and one of my favorite people. The full three-minute video is worth your time.

Much of what we do is noteworthy, but little is newsworthy.

Then again … love, commitment, generosity, empathy, laughter, forgiveness, integrity, creativity — these things don’t often make the headlines. (They just happen to be among the most important and meaningful things.)

Before you overthink things, try what’s simple and within reach.

While you might like a vacation and all your broken relationships to be mended and all your business headaches to be resolved …

The thing that might provide immediate relief is a few hours of rest. Or lunch with a loved one. Or fifteen minutes at an overlook. Or five minutes of mindful breathing. Or a thirty second hug.

There are often simple things we can do that will make everything else just a little better.

You don’t need a catastrophe to prompt a change. You don’t need to hit rock bottom. You don’t need a crisis.

You can change right now. In small ways or in not-so-small ways.

Change doesn’t have to be forced upon you.

You can make the choice.

Even now.

It annoys me when a customer service agent is unable to help me, but still ends the call by saying, “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

I know the line scripted. But still, it’s the kind of phrase that should come after a win, not after a loss.

* * *

Nine separate customer service agents have been unable to solve a credit issue in one of my accounts. Today, I spoke to number ten. Her response surprised me.

“I can’t correct this immediately, but I know who to contact. And I will do that. I’m a resolutionist. I don’t pass problems on to the next person. You know? I make sure to see it through. And I can guarantee: if you’re patient with me, we will get this sorted out. Give me 48 hours.”

“Resolutionist.” I like that. One employee with that kind of attitude is worth a dozen others who’d rather pass the buck.

Unfortunately, the drafts don’t count.

Yes, they’re important. Yes, they serve a purpose.

But they’re preliminary.

What matters is what we show. What we ship. What we share.

All the preparation is for naught unless we’re willing to put our work out there.

I had a long conversation where, regrettably, I did not use the words, “I want …”

I knew what I wanted, but I didn’t use the phrase directly.

Now that the conversation has passed, I think about how much better it might have been had I stated clearly:

Here’s what I want to happen.

or

This is what I want.

It’s easy to get caught up in laying out facts and explaining situations — so much so that we forget to state what we want.

Sometimes the most useful thing to do is to just come out and say it.

Part of the artist’s challenge is knowing when to insert punctuation.

Is this project ongoing? Is there more here? Is it finished? Should I keep going? Should I start over? Or start a new version? Or answer a different question?

A song. A painting. A performance. A photograph. A paragraph.

When is its expression complete? How do we know?

It’s all part of the artist’s journey.

And we’re all artists.

If you’re going to imagine, imagine.

Stop pre-filtering ideas. Stop your mental version of spell check and autocorrect.

Just. Imagine.

You don’t have to do. You don’t have to act. You don’t have to be reasonable, practical, or logical. Not when you’re imagining.

Just let it go. Let it come. Let it play.

When you discover something worth capturing, you’ll know it.

In the meantime, you have to allow it to happen. Filters off. Unfettered. Free.

While I was in a waiting room, a television played commercials. It was noise and my brain ignored it.

Until there was a pause in the audio. Mid-sentence. Total silence.

I looked up to see what was happening.

My attention had been captured.

Sometimes it’s not the noise that grabs us. Sometimes it’s the sudden silence.

Sudden silence: perhaps a tool for us to use judiciously.

I recently walked across a slackline. More accurately, I recently tried to walk across a slackline.

I was surprised by how bad I was. But it was fun for me to try. Even more fun for those who were watching.

Trying something completely new can bring quick awareness to our weaknesses — like balance — but sometimes it can uncover hidden strengths too. (My daughter walked across the same slackline and she was great on her first try.)

* * *

Something else I learned: it only takes fifteen or twenty minutes of practice on the slackline to start getting better.

Often, if we embrace the difficulty and awkwardness for just a short while, we can improve dramatically. The problem is, we don’t usually have the patience to be uncomfortable … even for a short while.

A dear friend was kind to point out that when I recently wrote about gatekeepers, saying, “Odds are, you won’t be anointed,” I had forgotten an important truth: we are already anointed.

That our purpose is deep within us and it always has been.

That because of our many gifts, we have thrilling potential in everything we do.

We don’t need to be selected for a journey; we’re already on one.

H/T: Ajike

It’s too risky to wait.

Odds are, the gatekeeper isn’t coming to pick you.

Odds are, the influential power broker isn’t going to discover you.

Odds are, you’re not going to be anointed, and you won’t be famous to the masses.

But you will be famous to some — and that matters.

The strategy is to focus on the practice. To focus on doing good work. To focus on making things better. To serve the smallest viable audience.

The long shot is just that: a long shot. Planning for the long shot is not a strategy.