One of the many things I appreciate about my physician is that she always ends an appointment by asking, “Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?”

She doesn’t rush patients out the door; she’s curious and attentive. As a result, there are times when she’s slightly behind schedule. That flexibility is a result of her generosity.

Not all systems are as flexible.

At the end of a long day in Nuremberg, my colleagues and I made our way to a train that would take us back to our hotel. As we neared the platform, we noticed a train about to depart.

Wanting desperately to get us all onto that train — and not the next train arriving ten minutes later — I sprinted down the steps, across the platform, and I put my foot in the doors just before they finished closing.

The train was unsympathetic.

Unlike an elevator whose sensitive doors offer a flexibility in departure, this train was leaving on time.

With my foot.

Slightly panicked, I hopped along with the departing train and was just barely able to yank my shoe free before being dragged away.

I learned my lesson.

* * *

Whether we choose to be flexible depends on who’s being served and whose needs are a priority. Sometimes flexibility is worth it. Other times, keeping to the plan is what serves the majority most effectively.

It’s not the apology that makes things better. It’s the change that follows.

Without change, apologies are hollow courtesies. Artificial resolutions.

But with change, an apology becomes a meaningful turning point.

The next time you apologize, honor the change that ought to follow.

The conventional advice is to not look in the rearview mirror.

Eyes ahead. Focus on what’s next. Don’t dwell upon the past.

But this advice is not the same as “don’t look behind you.”

Because looking behind you can be useful. Things can approach from behind. It could be danger, but it could be help, too.

And sometimes it’s someone who’s following in your footsteps. In those moments, you’re in a prime position to be a generous guide.

“How are you?”

As often and casually as it’s asked, it’s actually a complicated question. Particularly when we consider aperture and placement.

How wide of a window are we addressing? Right now? A few hours? Days? Months? More?

And where is that window situated? Does it capture the past few hours? The next few hours? The past season? The future?

Is this a question of physical health? Or is it emotional, spiritual, and mental too?

(It’s no wonder that, “fine,” and “pretty good,” are common responses.)

So often, we gauge how we are based on what’s happening in the moment, but that’s a painfully narrow peek.

What happens when we consider a much longer arc? Or the richness of possibility? How are we then?

It’s generally not useful to have unreasonable expectations.

But it is useful to have unreasonable expectations in some areas.

We call that dreaming.

Be strategically unreasonable — allow yourself to dream — then back it up with a lot of dedicated effort.

A friend offering some wise counsel paused during our conversation. The topic had become heavy and we seemed to be losing momentum.

“If you’re up to it, let’s change up the energy.”

With a brief neck stretch, a waggle of the arms, and a new question to ponder — we had a renewed sense of purpose and refreshed spirits. New insights began to emerge.

Part of it was because of the physical invigoration. But part of it was merely because the idea of new energy was mentioned.

Sometimes, setting a new course creates change before we even start moving our feet.

Queen Elizabeth II once said, “Inevitably, a long life can pass by many milestones. My own is no exception.”

When one is blessed with a long life, one lives through tremendous change. How we navigate that change is often what defines our character.

Rest in peace, Your Majesty. Yours was a life of duty and grace, and you were dear to many in this world.

When you’ve lost your way, when you’re nervous, when you’re confused — remind yourself of something that’s true, something positive. Find reassurance in it. Find rest in it.

That bit of truth might be the only spark you need to regain your bearings.

There are some notes in the human vocal register that can’t be sung quietly. They need air and volume to enter into the world.

Metaphorically speaking, is there a song you could be singing — if you’d only give it enough volume? Enough air? Enough attention?

Could the world be slightly better if you had the courage to let that song be sung?

A panel discussion included two participants.

The speaker who was pragmatic, who presented both sides of the equation, who pointed to the nuance — was boring.

He presented facts. He explained that the issue wasn’t cut and dried. But his presentation was dull.

The other speaker was fiery, unequivocal, unyielding, and highly compelling. He didn’t acknowledge gray areas … and he garnered all the applause.

Because speaking in absolutes is entertaining.

Because it’s far easier to shout from the extremes than it is to shout from the middle.

But “entertaining” is not the same as “right” and the way forward (empathy, compassion, service to others, and shared vision) is not necessarily entertaining.

How fully can we own our work?

How completely can we claim credit for the good elements … as well as the bad? To be bold enough to say, “Here. I made this. Any errors are my own.”

It’s far easier to point fingers. To lay blame upon a contractor, or a proofreader, or an intern, or a technical glitch. To say, “That wasn’t really my fault.”

“All errors are mine” seems risky. But really, it’s empowering. When we simultaneously accept credit and blame, we embrace an ownership of the work that allows us to write the next chapter with freedom. No hiding, no deflecting … but instead, a forward-leaning judo approach to whatever outcomes we produce.

If you’re seeking a good likeness in a portrait drawing, the contours and spaces have to be right.

The distance between the eyes. The distance between the nose and the cheek’s edge. The distance between each feature. The contour of the chin. The placement and shape of the hairline. The shape of the brow.

When all these things come together, a drawing can look a lot like the subject. When they’re off, the drawing looks like another person.

But all these details serve as a poor reminder of who we are. Yes, it’s how we look at a given moment in time. But what’s a shifting hairline? What’s an elongated ear? A wrinkle or a jowl?

All these are nothing but a passing physical manifestation.

And we are so much more than that.

Absent what the eyes see of your physical self, what makes a good likeness of you?

Some people are so caught up in the details of their own lives, they don’t have the bandwidth to be concerned or curious about yours.

It may be a self-obsession or it may be overwhelm. You might not be able to tell the difference.

Either way, be at peace. You might feel overlooked, but it’s not personal. Some wear invisible headphones that play such a loud and complicated story, it’s hard to have ears for anything else.

When you encounter people like this — and you might encounter them frequently — give them a little grace.

The small sign in the oceanfront souvenir shop says:

“If you or your child break something, bring it to the checkout so we can wrap it for you.”

Simple accountability.

The solution to some accidents is quite straightforward.

We’re quick to say, “Sorry.” Are we as quick to make things right?

James Taylor and Stephen Colbert. Both seasoned professionals. Both skilled performers.

Both still get nervous.

A few resonant lines from an August 4, 2022 interview on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, and some reflections.

* * *

James Taylor: “Ninety percent of show business is how you look when you’re nervous.”

We don’t always eliminate nervousness. We often carry it with us. We work through it. The goal isn’t to not be nervous. The goal is to perform well regardless.

* * *

Stephen Colbert: “I’m nervous every night before I come out — because I know how it should play up here.“ [points to head]

We know what good looks like. We know how we want to show up. We care. But we also know there’s often a gap between our vision and what happens in the real world. That potential deficit can cause plenty of worry.

* * *

James Taylor: “You want to be either in the moment or slightly ahead of it. You want to be thinking about what you were about to do — and not what you just did.”

All we have is what’s now and what’s next. Dwelling on what just happened comes at the expense of our ability to prepare for the next thing. When we lean slightly forward, we can craft a beautiful present moment.

* * *

(Thanks to my friend, Kayle, who pointed me to the segment.)

On the first day, there’s excitement. Things are fresh, bright, and new.

Then, there’s every other day. And those days tend to be less shiny. During those days, the work can start to feel more like work.

But we can — with a shift in mindset — hold on to a little bit of that first-day magic. We can approach each day as new (after all, it is).

The seed of beginning is always with us, but we still have to embrace it.

As Marcus Aurelius advises, “Think of yourself as dead. You have lived your life. Now, take what’s left and live it properly.”

Today is another first day. Go live it.

Writer and civic evangelist Eric Liu says, “We’re all better off when we’re all better off.”

It’s a simple, powerful truth.

A good reminder, too, that this life is not a zero-sum game. Our culture often seeks to identify winners and losers. But when we can work to make things better for everyone, we all win.

We don’t have to be all things to all people. We can’t be, and we need not try.

But we can be some things to some people.

We might not learn how to play all the songs. But we could learn one song really well.

Perhaps we don’t consider ourselves a poet. But maybe we could write a few beautiful stanzas.

Even if we don’t make a living as a chef, we could still learn to cook a few great dishes.

Small areas of excellence. We can all strive for that. And that might be enough.

Sometimes the problem isn’t that we want a thing. It’s that we want a thing and we want it to be easy.

And often, easy just isn’t in the cards.

So the question is: do you still want it, even if it’s not going to be easy?

Fred Rogers — the beloved television host, Mister Rogers — doubted himself. Even after two decades of success. After some extended time away from the work, he typed this note to himself. As ever, his generosity offers deep and powerful lessons for all.

“Am I kidding myself that I’m able to write a script again? Am I really just whistling Dixie? I wonder. If I don’t get down to it I’ll never really know. Why can’t I trust myself. Really that’s what it’s all about … that and not wanting to go through the agony of creation. AFTER ALL THESE YEARS IT’S JUST AS BAD AS EVER. I wonder if every creative artist goes through the tortures of the damned trying to create? Oh, well, the hour commeth and now IS when I’ve got to do it. GET TO IT, FRED. GET TO IT. … But don’t let anybody ever tell anybody else that it was easy. It wasn’t.”

And a hand-written postscript, added weeks later: “It wasn’t easy but it was good. The five new scripts about school are nearly complete and I can see how helpful they can be. This I must remember!”

* * *

We all struggle with doubt. Creativity is hard. But it’s worthwhile. Recall why we do it. Remind yourself of its value. Coach yourself away from the paralysis that self-doubt sows and get to it — get to the important work that only you can do.