When we say we miss a thing (because a change has happened in time or circumstance) — often what we mean is that we miss the convenience of that thing.

For the things that matter to us, we change in response to the change. We travel the extra distance to the store’s new location, we adjust our schedule to attend the new weekly meeting time, we visit with the friend who has moved to a new town, we adjust to work in a smaller studio space …

When we don’t truly care, we don’t change.

When it matters to us, convenience is secondary.

Undoubtedly, there are one-time events that drastically alter our lives, for better or worse. Sometimes those events are a result of our actions. Other times, they’re consequences of chance or the actions of others.

But more often, the things that drastically alter our lives are things that play-out little by little over the course of a long time.

What’s remarkable is that we have significant influence over the little-by-little.

Small moments, small choices, small commitments, small wins — over time, they all add up.

We write the epic story, but we do it one word at a time.

I overheard this conversation between a hotel manager and member of the housekeeping staff:

“How was your weekend? Did you get to see the baby?”

“It was great. I had a nice time off and it was wonderful spending time with that little guy. How about you? Did you get away?”

It was a beautiful exchange. A testimony to the kind of work culture at this hotel.

These environments don’t happen accidentally; they’re created on purpose.

It’s the kind of culture we can all strive to build.

The sponsor form for the school club offered three options: $5, $10, or $20.

No blank line. No “other.” No flexibility.

Yes, one could donate more, but there wasn’t a prompt.

There’s value to defining goals and creating boundaries. When there are just a few options, it’s easier for us to choose … and more likely that we will.

But sometimes, it helps to remove the boundaries. To create an open space for others to fill in the blank. To intentionally include the possibility of what-if.

Besides: the most interesting things in life are a result of the blank lines, not from having selected the predetermined choices.

Austin Kleon tells us, “All advice is autobiographical. … [W]hen people give you advice, they’re really just talking to themselves in the past.”

True words, A.K.

Knowing this, take a moment to imagine a future version of yourself.

What wisdom would that future version of you offer? How would future-you advise the you of today?

If your key doesn’t work, make sure you’re using the right key.

Then, see if its teeth are worn or the blade is bent.

Check the lock, too. It might need to be lubricated.

Or the mechanism could be broken.

Someone might have even changed the lock.

The point is, there are a lot of reasons a door might not open for you. Even the possibility that you’re at the wrong door.

Organize your thoughts. Find the right words. Speak them aloud.

And, regularly, commit them to writing.

Particularly when we capture what we know to be true … the written word allows that truth to ring with a sustained clarity.

Embrace the practice.

When we ask, “Can I get your honest opinion?” we should keep in mind: honest opinions are not necessarily expert opinions.

Whose opinion we seek matters. Whose approval we seek matters. Whose standards we seek to meet matters.

Honesty matters, but who’s being honest matters even more.

Some situations are taxing enough on their own. They’re even more of a challenge if they coincide with natural stressors like hunger, fatigue, or a feeling of loneliness.

When this occurs, have the presence of mind to pause. Recognize what’s happening. A bit of food, a little rest, or a conversation with a friend can go a long way in helping us gain clarity when things feel like they’re going sideways.

Alexandre Desplat wrote the score for Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio to be performed with only certain instruments, not a full symphony orchestra.

No brass. No cymbals. Only wood-based instruments like woodwinds, guitar, piano, and a wooden accordion. The music itself is native to the world of Geppetto, the woodworker, and the boy made out of wood.

This musical constraint is as beautiful as it is fitting. It’s a foundational layer of meaning. It’s not explicitly told to the viewer, but it seamlessly contributes to the effectiveness and nuance of the work.

Sometimes circumstances present constraints. Other times, we intentionally adopt constraints in service of a conceptual goal.

In a culture that often praises “select all” and the idea of unlimited choice, it’s refreshing to see creative constraint used to add such meaning and depth.

If you knew your words would cling to someone else and take root in their heart, what would you say?

Because sometime words — even words said in passing — sometimes words do that.

Sometimes we learn one skill only to learn that a related, secondary skill is where we truly shine.

For instance, in learning how to cook, you might find that you’re a great entertainer.

Or in learning how to teach, you might find that you’re an excellent public speaker.

Or in learning how to design websites, you might find that you’re a capable marketer.

Whether you’re learning news skills or you’re already a seasoned professional, keep an awareness of secondary skills. In some cases, that may be where your more remarkable strengths reside.

Last month, my youngest son wrote down his plans for a particular Saturday. It went like this:

8:40. Oatmeal.
9:00. Ask to go to bookstore.
10:00. Ask for screen time. Yes or no.
10:35. Run back and forth.
10:55. Read.
11:30. Run back and forth.
11:40. Read.
12:00. Lunch.
12:10. Play.
12:30 or 40. Read.
1:00. Play.
1:30 or 40. Run back and forth.
1:50. Read.
2:10. Play.
2:30. Screen time.
3:00. Snack.

When you have a day to yourself, what does it look like? Would others delight at reading your schedule? When it includes, “run back and forth,” is it literal? (For a seven-year-old, it certainly is.)

Do you schedule enough time for play? If not, you might consider an adjustment.

It’s natural to wonder why someone leaves.

“What am I doing wrong? Is it not good enough?”

And those are valid questions to ask — especially if you’ve just lost a valuable customer, client, or reader.

But you also have to know: sometimes people leave for reasons that don’t have to do with you.

Their interests change. Their needs change. Their schedules change.

Or maybe they were the wrong fit to begin with.

No matter the reason, the more you focus on the person who leaves, the less you’re focused on the many who remain.

“Dress shabbily and they remember the dress; dress impeccably and they remember the woman.”
— Coco Chanel

Beyond clothing, we wear many other things things. Attitudes, worldviews, personas, intentions.

What are you choosing to put on? Does it invite people to see a façade, or does it cultivate deeper connection? Is it for show, or for something more meaningful?

What will be remembered?

To paraphrase a Franciscan priest: “When people say they don’t have time to pray, what they mean is that they don’t think prayer will work.”

It’s not a problem of time; it’s a problem of faith.

And it’s a powerful lens, regardless of our spiritual practice or religious affiliation.

When we believe something will work, we make time for it. Even if it’s inconvenient. Even if it takes priority over other important things.

On the other hand, when we don’t believe in something, or we doubt its effectiveness, or we’re hesitant to bet on a positive outcome — we’re far less likely to hold space for that thing.

Are the circumstances the problem, or is it your perspective?

The solution to whatever it is that’s vexing you might be to change how you’re thinking about it.

This word, not that one. This musical note, not that one. This hue. This mark. This flavor. This angle. This lighting.

For creators, part of the work is in making countless choices based on training, skill, experience, and intention.

Even the choice of whether an opportunity merits creation at all.

In a way, every choice is a creative act. The question is: what’s the choice in service of?

Someone recently asked me, “When did you decide to write a daily blog?”

I answered: “Over four years ago.”

But the real answer is: “Today.”

That’s the way it is with streaks. They’re only streaks because you keep doing them. And to do that, you have to make the decision every day. You don’t wait for the moment; you decide in advance of the moment.

What have you already decided upon today?

In my studio, it regularly takes me longer to build something than I think it will. In my mind, a project will take a few hours, but it really takes a couple days. In my mind, the commission will take a few weeks, but it really takes a couple months. It’s always longer than what’s in my head. Chalk it up to endless optimism.

The flipside is that some things can happen right away … but in my mind, I imagine they will take a long time. Like telling myself a new story. Like changing my mind about something I believe. Like adopting a new intention. These things seem like a heavy lift, but they can happen in a heartbeat if we want them to.