We had a significant snowfall last night. In the morning, I saw a young man clearing a car with his hands and kicking snow away from the tires. With a six-inch blanket of heavy snow, his method was going to take time. Who knows: maybe he was digging out so he could go buy a shovel.

As I reflect upon his situation, a few things come to mind.

One, sometimes we don’t prepare … and our bet doesn’t pay off. Then we’re stuck with the consequences.

Two, when you don’t have a scraper and a shovel, you use your hands and your feet.

And three, paradoxically, getting the tools and resources you need would be easier if you already had them.

I drilled a hole in my wall yesterday and oh, what a mess it was.

The surface of the wall was beautiful. But behind that, there was a lot of loose horsehair plaster. It was a dusty, crumbling headache.

The experience reminded me of a larger lesson: you can’t really know what you’re dealing with until you get beyond the surface.

After the sowing, there comes a time for harvesting and storing.

It seems like a selfish act — all that sustenance going into the silo.

But silos allow us to plan for the future. Or to plan for something big. And those plans don’t have to be selfish at all.

Whatever it is you’re gathering and saving: what’s it for?

When was the last time you had a positive, meaningful experience?

Call it to mind.

Where were you? What were you doing? What was the context?

If we want, we can consciously create these moments. More precisely, we can regularly seek the conditions in which these meaningful experiences are possible.

It’s not to say that these things don’t happen serendipitously. But we can also engage, curate, and set the stage ourselves … externally and internally.

Over the years, I’ve used many different notebooks and sketchbooks: Moleskine, Fabriano, Rhodia, Evernote, Moo, Daler-Rowney. Different styles from each.

Which one is best? Here’s the answer: the one I use most.

Styles and preferences change over time. The constant, however, is the practice. Taking notes. Recording thoughts. Capturing ideas. Marking. Drawing. Creating.

However you do it, and whatever tools you use, the value is in the doing. Whether you choose lines, grids, dots, or an open field … whether it’s case-bound, saddle-stitched, spiral or digital … the important part is that you’re actually using the tool.

A blank notebook on the shelf is just a decoration … no matter how much potential its pages hold.

How close are your words to your heart?

And how close are your actions to your words?

When these things are out of alignment, the internal conflict it causes begins to reveal itself.

A certain peace comes from keeping our words and actions aligned … and in close proximity to our heart.

It can be frustrating. You call a professional and they come solve the problem — for a fee — and the solution is something simple that you could have done on your own.

But remember: that happens once.

Now, you have a new skill. You have a new way to troubleshoot. You have another simple thing to try before you have to call in the experts.

You didn’t pay a service fee. You paid for a lesson (even if you weren’t looking for a tutor).

You can put lots of thought and effort into figuring out how to do things the way you’ve always done them.

But sometimes, new ways are better ways.

All that energy could be put into figuring out what’s best instead of trying to resist the inevitability of change.

As much as we talk about renewable energy, we often forget to include ourselves.

You are boundless. Continually renewable. Always regenerating. A constant cycle of possibility and start-again magic.

What’s going to receive the benefit of your fullest charge today?

The best curiosity is the kind that prompts change.

Changing your mind. Changing your habits. Changing your goals. Changing how you invest your time and resources.

Idle curiosity is just another form of entertainment.

Curiosity that has a bias toward action is where we start to come alive.

If you have a half-dozen interactions with someone, and they don’t remember you …

… that says more about them than it does you.

Don’t think otherwise.

You can’t feed every starving mouth. But can you feed one mouth, one meal?

You can’t give away all of your money. But can you give away one penny?

You can’t abstain for another ten days. But can you abstain for another ten minutes?

You can’t write every beautiful sentence. But can you write just a few?

You can’t solve every problem. But can you solve one problem?

* * *

We sometimes say, “I can’t do anything,” when what we really mean is, “Since I can’t do everything, I won’t do anything.”

But doing everything is never the expectation; it’s impossible.

There is often an answer between the extremes.

The way forward is in finding what we can do — all the way to its edge. In identifying what’s possible and then doing it.

What we know of the past is known through stories — stories others tell and stories we tell ourselves.

They say history is written by the victors. But recent history can lack clear winners and losers. Protest or insurrection? Tragedy or genocide? Self-defense or aggression? Anomaly or trend? Across the globe, the record of what’s happening is sometimes in dispute.

So who wins?

It’s the stories that are told the most.

Could this political phenomenon be relevant to our own lives and our personal history? Most certainly.

The story we tell ourselves most often will shape our past, present, and future. Tell a good one.

It’s fun to be picked.

But you might have to volunteer — maybe a lot — before people recognize what you can do. Meaning, you might have to do the thing on your own before anyone asks you to do the thing.

If you do that often enough, you just might build a reputation. And if it’s a good one, people will seek you out.

Be patient if you’re waiting to be picked. And in the meantime, keep doing the work.

We can commit ourselves to economic pursuits that will enable us to acquire things of art and beauty.

Or we can commit ourselves to economic pursuits that support our own ability to create art and beauty.

Or perhaps we begin with a commitment to create art and beauty.

And economics are a separate consideration.

We live in a world of surveillance. We’re watched, monitored, and observed.

Still, with all that’s recorded, captured, and witnessed — much of the good we experience is a result of people doing the right thing … when no one is looking.

During a weekend filled with “Happy New Year” wishes, it’s worth considering: what does happy look like? How will you recognize it over the next twelve months?

Admittedly, the word “happy” is loaded. Or used so often that its meaning has been muddled or lessened.

But “happy” is easy to say and pleasant to wish. After all, “Contented New Year!” is a strange thing to cheer as the clock strikes midnight.

Although that’s likely what we mean: a year filled with contentedness, gratitude, health, hope, beauty, and joy.

Hoping you find all of these things. And hoping you recognize them. Even in this very moment.

The change in a calendar year is often an excuse to start something new (or to stop something old).

But we can choose any day of the year to start or stop something.

If today is that day for you, go for it. Good luck. But remember: after today, you don’t have to wait 12 months to choose the next shift — big or small. You can just make the change when you’re ready.

We might need a new oven. Maybe.

Over the past two weeks, we’ve noticed that the oven can’t keep a steady temperature. One minute it’s at 400. Ten minutes later it’s at 350. There’s no consistency.

We had been monitoring an internal thermometer that we have clipped to one of the racks. As an initial test, we bought a new thermometer. And guess what? When the oven is set at 400, the new thermometer reads 400 while the old one fluctuates.

The oven still might have problems. We’ll have to see. But what we know now is that we’re likely getting more accurate measurements.

In a broader sense, it’s a good lesson to check the accuracy of our methods of measurement.

Likes on Instagram. Applause. Verbal praise. Gallery sales. Commissions. Email replies.

All of these are measurements, but none is guaranteed to be accurate.

When people say “amateur hour” they typically mean it condescendingly — that someone is doing something in an unskilled way.

But the word amateur comes from words meaning to love. There’s value in that.

We might not be paid for some of the things we do — but we can do them with great love and even with great skill.

As amateurs, we can still show up as professionals. And we can love what we do.