Roofers will tell you: “You can’t fix a leak in the rain.”

It’s a good reminder. Sometimes, we have to wait for the storm to pass. The best you can do in the meantime is to get a bucket and try to keep things dry.

* * *

If you have moments when life feels like a rainy day with a leaky roof, be patient. The storm will pass and you can patch things up later. (The sun might even shine while you work on the repairs.)

But when it’s raining … things just might get a little wet.

Last week, I took a train from Frankfurt to Nuremberg. Ten minutes into the journey, before I was asked for my ticket, an attendant asked, “Would you like something to drink?” I was happy to request water. But his second question is what stuck with me: “Are you hungry?”

Not, “What can I get you?” or “Do you want to see a menu?” but, “Are you hungry?”

There’s something familial about asking the question that way. Kind. Connected. Needs-oriented.

A simple interaction with a Deutsche Bahn employee, and I felt cared for.

* * *

The way we ask — the way we offer services — it makes a difference.

With the right words, a transaction can become an encounter.

Sometimes children want to do something, but they don’t want advice about it.

Even good advice.

From someone who’s done it before.

From someone who knows how to do it correctly.

They just want to do it however they’re going to do it.

It’s part independence, part experimentation, part stubbornness.

Right or wrong, win or lose … in that moment, they will not be influenced or deterred.

(And adults occasionally act in this same way.)

As we invest in all sorts of things — money, time, resources, relationships — we strike a balance between the certainty of today and the uncertainty of the future.

A guiding principle: Invest like tomorrow is guaranteed, but live knowing that it’s not.

The United States purchased Alaska from Russia in 1867. At the time, U.S. Secretary of State William H. Seward was lambasted. The deal was known as “Seward’s Folly” and President Johnson’s “polar bear garden”.

Alaska would eventually be treasured for its beauty, wildlife, and natural resources.

Foolish decisions aren’t always wise moves in disguise. Sometimes people do make colossal errors in judgement.

But history shows us that some things seen as wisdom today … were once seen as complete folly.

In your projects and in your creative work, it could be that you’re building. You’ve been careful to lay a foundation. Stone upon stone. Brick upon brick. You’re choosing every piece to last the test of time.

But it’s possible that another metaphor could serve you better.

Sometimes we’re not building. Sometimes we’re crossing a stream, and the stepping stones only need to be in place while we traverse the waters.

In this sense, the stepping stones can be temporary. Not a permanent bridge, but a way to the next stage.

The advice is not to be careless. The advice is to consider the difference between building something to last … and the value of nimble forward movement. Each has its season.

An unexpected delay can cost you time, money, productivity, and opportunity.

You don’t need to let it cost you your peace as well.

The mind is yours to manage — in all situations.

Touch a hot stove once and the lesson is learned.

Most of our learning, however, is not so straightforward. It’s not as clear. Not as sticky.

Many lessons have to be learned again and again and again.

Because learning is a practice, not a light switch.

Right is not always easy.

Fair is not necessarily even.

Justice may require sacrifice.

And sometimes, movement involves standing firm.

A swarm of bees took up residence in a tree beside my home. Having never seen such a thing, we found the buzzing cloud of stinger-toting pollinators rather unsettling.

My instinct: get rid of these things before my family gets hurt.

But before acting, we did some research and contacted a regional beekeeping association. We learned that bee swarms are a natural phenomenon that occur when a colony reproduces. The bees would only stay in our tree until the scouts found a permanent location for their new hive.

And sure enough, that’s what happened. After the colony arrived in their lively swarm, they settled in for the night in a compact, quiet mass. Less than 24 hours later, they had moved on without leaving a trace.

Here’s the lesson: some problems are temporary. They’re not even problems, really. They’re occurrences that show up unexpectedly and they resolve on their own. No intervention necessary.

Sometimes the trouble comes when we leap into action out of fear … when the best thing to do is to observe with curiosity.

You might make the best omelet in town.
An omelet loved by many.
But even your most loyal fans might not visit every day.
Some people just don’t want an omelet that often. Even if it’s the best around.

Whether it’s an omelet, or a podcast, or a piece of writing, or a painting, or a performance — just because people don’t always make time for it doesn’t mean it lacks value. It doesn’t mean it’s unloved.

It just means that the menu is big enough to include other delicious foods, too.

And we can’t consume every good thing.

So keep cooking. Your omelet is remarkable.

Some burdens appear ugly, but are rather easy and light.

Meanwhile, some things that appear beautiful … can be heavy and burdensome.

* * *

The best judge of a hardship is the one who carries it.

If you’re consistently brilliant at night, but foggy during the day … why wouldn’t you organize your life around that evening skill-set?

Or if you’re at your best when working in a vibrant city, why would you choose a career in the country?

The point is this: sometimes we’re afraid to thrive. We’re hesitant to craft a lifestyle that will allow us to reach our personal heights.

Because it’s safer to settle for how things generally are.

But if we can do better, why not do better?

There are always tradeoffs. But sometimes the trade is between a life that’s certain and average … and one that’s surprising and remarkable.

Seek out where and when you’re at your best. Have the audacity to live in that space.

“Manage your expectations” is useful advice. It’s the kind of advice that extends to nearly everything. Personal interactions, career paths, creative endeavors, your health, your family, your life in general.

What are your expectations? How does reality align with those expectations?

There’s another element to consider, too: legacy expectations. Think of them as ideas we formed years ago. Formative expectations.

Like looking into a mirror and noticing the hat you forgot you were wearing … legacy expectations can catch us by surprise.

The good thing is, we can let them go. We can recalibrate. We can realign those expectations if it serves us well to do so.

The ideas we formed in the past — about what’s good, what’s attractive, what’s satisfying, what’s laudable — we can choose to keep those ideas, or we can change how we see things.

“Managing expectations” isn’t just about what we expect now. It’s also about what we began to expect long ago.

The body and the mind have separate sleep cycles. Sometimes they align. Sometimes they do not.

Be wise and use caution when either one is sleeping or fatigued.

When we are behind schedule — or we feel like we’re behind schedule — there’s often the pressure to catch up.

If you’re facing a project deadline, then catching up makes sense; you’ve got a job to do.

But that same feeling can bleed over into other areas. A backlog of magazines and newsletters. A queue of shows. A shelf of books. Your ideal resume. Your portfolio.

Here, catching up is more … problematic. And maybe impossible.

So consider exchanging the concept of “catching up” with the concept of beginning.

Don’t worry about the backlog. Just start. Begin. Go.

That action will build momentum and you’ll make the kind of progress that’s unhindered by pressure, guilt, and shame.

Just begin.

Creative.

Some people are afraid of the word. They might even say things like, “I’m not creative.” Perhaps they were told that when they were young. Maybe it’s just a feeling.

But there are other ways of thinking about creativity.

You might consider saying, “I have good ideas.” Or even, “I’m patient enough to work through a lot of bad ideas until I find a good one.”

Or you might say, “I like to experiment. Sometimes things work, sometimes they don’t. Either way, I keep trying.”

Or you might simply say, “I’m curious.”

If you can say anything that lives in this world … you still might not want to admit that you’re creative. But you are.

A friend recently said, “I think this is good, but I don’t really know. I don’t have anything to compare it to.”

This happens sometimes. Along with observing, we seek comparison. We have a general sense of something’s worth, but then we begin to second-guess ourselves. “Is there something better? Am I foolish for liking this?”

The harder (but important) thing to do is to see what’s in front of us, to evaluate it based on its purpose, or our needs, or our wants … and — provided it fits — to stop looking for the thing that’s just a little better.

If we judge a thing as good and sufficient, let it be so. We don’t need to torture ourselves with comparison.

Good questions don’t necessarily have immediate answers. Be patient with them.

Questions like, “What’s next for you?” or, “Where are you called to contribute?” or, “What does success look like for you?” And dozens more.

They all need time to marinate.

Rainer Maria Rilke’s wisdom from Letters to a Young Poet can help in the meantime.

“Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”

At the end of some days, we look back with a twinge of regret: “I didn’t get anything done today.”

The natural follow-on question is, “Did you have a plan?”

It’s one thing when the day doesn’t go as planned. It’s another thing when there wasn’t a plan from the start.

Having a plan helps to storyboard the narrative that you’ll have at the end of the day. Without that framework, when we look back, we’re not confronting a reasonable sense of what we can do within a given day. Instead, we’re weighing what we actually did with our full imagination of what could have been.

That’s not a fair comparison.

Set a plan. Even if it’s loose. Even it if it’s to improvise. Even if it’s to rest.

And at the end of the day, be kind to yourself. (Self-compassion should always be part of the plan.)