You don’t have to open the meeting telling the story of fighting traffic, running two blocks, and barely arriving on time.

You don’t have to start the appointment explaining your terrible night’s sleep.

You don’t have to begin the lecture by saying you’re nervous and feeling a little scattered.

Introductions of this sort are meant to lower expectations. To prepare others for a lesser-than experience.

You don’t have to do that.

What you can do instead, is take a deep breath. And again.

You can put the arrival stress — and its associated story — behind you.

Focus on the work at hand, not on the obstacles you’ve recently overcome.

Allow yourself to mentally transition … and then begin fresh, as you had intended.

The work doesn’t always make complete sense as we’re making it.

Don’t let that stop you. Keep creating.

Sometimes, the output of our creativity needs time and distance for us to better understand it.

Observe, reflect, create … the three are part of a continuous cycle whose order can often change.

I once knew someone who never used contractions in speaking. It was never, “It’s nice to see you.” It was always, “It is nice to see you.” Never, “How’s it going?” Only, “How is it going?”

It was unusual and quasi-robotic, but it was memorable. Specifically, it was one of her memorable traits. Many people knew this about her.

Do you have a particular way of doing things? A way that you show up in the world that’s characteristically yours?

Of course you do.

It’s not something to ignore. It may even be something to elevate.

But first, we have to recognize it.

What’s so you about you? What makes your voice your voice?

Sometimes, it takes a little ink on the calendar to get us properly motivated.

When we know there’s an upcoming exhibition, we finish the sculpture. When we’re anticipating overnight guests, we tidy the house. When we’re on the schedule to perform, we fully prepare the pieces.

* * *

If you find yourself lacking motivation, schedule an event. Let its existence on the calendar be a friendly push in the right direction.

In other words, if the motivation isn’t coming internally, invite it to manifest itself through a bit of external pressure.

A house painter and a farmer will look at the weather forecast differently.

What we see is informed by our personal hopes and dreams, and even more by the pressing needs of today.

It’s useful to remember this … particularly when we look at the forecast together.

It’s unlikely that any piece of art you admire is a first effort.

And it’s quite likely that you’re not privy to the failed works that lead up to it.

Art and creativity can seem like magic.

But magicians will tell you: magic takes a lot of practice.

When a built-in cabinet is crooked, who’s to blame?

The installer? The cabinetmaker? The person who hung the drywall? Perhaps the carpenter who framed the wall. Or maybe the crew that poured the foundation? Or the company that leveled the lot?

While results are obvious, responsibility can be less clear. Often, it’s the last person who touched the project that gets the most scrutiny.

When systems work properly, periodic quality checks prompt corrections all through the process. Each step of the way, some level of personal responsibility assists a virtuous ratchet.

* * *

In teams with a shared vision, everyone checks for level and plumb.

The desktop is a better place for time-sensitive paperwork than the filing cabinet.

“Out of sight out of mind” is real.

It’s why we keep reminders for important things we don’t want to forget. A sticky note, an alarm on our phone, some words on a whiteboard … we each have our own techniques.

Do you, however, have methods of reminding yourself that you’re creative? Visible cues of your innovative spirit? An occasional alert that reminds you to stay curious? Or that your voice is a valuable contribution?

We often have reminders of what we need to do. Sometimes we also need reminders of who we are.

The normal cadence of your walk: one, two, one, two. It’s in the musical equivalent of 2/2 or 2/4 time. It happens without thinking. It’s the norm.

But what if … what if for a moment, you made a subtle shift? And now you’re walking in 3/4 time. Baaa-dot-dot, baaa-dot-dot …

That feels quite different.

Switching the beat here and there or changing the meter completely — this can present new perspectives, new attitudes, and new insights.

Sometimes a subtle shift is all it takes.

Writer/illustrator Tim Urban prompts us to imagine all of human history, written as a 1,000-page book.

Each page represents 250 years.

And mostly, it is the most boring book ever written.

It’s page after page of hunting and gathering and occasional human migration. One would surely stop reading after eight or nine hundred pages of the same basic story.

Then, agriculture is developed. And writing.

But not until page 990 do we read about Buddha. Jesus on 993. Shakespeare on 998.

And then there’s page 1,000. When compared to all the other pages, it seems like it’s from an entirely different book. On page 1,000 we first see things like indoor plumbing. And electricity. And mass production. And vaccines. Cars, planes, and spaceships. Weapons of mass destruction. Computers, the internet, and artificial intelligence.

For 999 pages, there’s less than a billion people on the planet. Turn the page and it’s eight billion.

To say that we live in unprecedented times is not enough. We live in a fractional slice of human history that is unlike any other. And mostly, we’re too close to it to even see it.

If there’s someone who — after spending time with this person, your cheeks hurt from smiling or your sides hurt from laughing … then you are lucky indeed.

Count your blessings, because this person is one of them.

When choosing the right path feels overwhelming, remember that paths can be welcoming and wide. And a wide path allows for a lot of variation.

Travel easy. Of the many choices, there’s more than one right answer.

The insights we gain from doing the work far outweigh the insights we gain by other means.

We can study, we can observe, and we can ponder. And we can learn little by little. We can even have great epiphanies through discussion and mentorship. And we should engage in all of these things.

But when we dive into the craft — when we roll up our sleeves and immerse ourselves — we learn by leaps and bounds.

Our own sweat can often be the best teacher.

The surface can be fascinating. Its beauty can capture and keep our attention. So much, that we’re tempted to think that’s all there is.

But like fruit, what matters most is beneath the skin. Hidden.

So don’t stop at the façade. Go deeper. With conversation. With study. With curiosity.

Discover what’s beneath the surface.

The risk is that we don’t allow ourselves to be bored. That we don’t let ourselves wrestle with the question, “What do I do now?” That our schedules are saturated. That wherever we go, we can bring digital connectivity with us.

We can travel to an unfamiliar territory and at once be fixated on the comfort of our screens. New landscape, same apps.

Technology has the tendency to fill whatever voids present themselves.

And that distraction — that ever-present hum — can keep us from hearing the quiet voice that whispers from within.

As conduits of creativity, part of the practice is in clearing and holding space. Every so often, allowing ourselves that unstructured, undirected mode … to become more sensitive, more curious, and more attentive.

That kind of presence, awareness, and openness can be a gateway to our most meaningful work.

In music and art — perhaps in any subject, but especially in music and art — seek out what breaks your understanding. Sit with the discomfort. Endure the confusion.

Because we learn beyond the edges of what we know.

When we encounter work that is jarring, unsettling, elusive, or unfamiliar … it’s fertile ground for learning and growth.

Don’t avoid it; lean into it. You don’t need to adopt it or live with it. But you can learn from it.

When one goes on retreat — whether into nature or some other place designed for such things — there comes an end to the experience when participants rerun to the “real world” … one that is presumably filled with noise, distraction, and burden.

It’s curious that we use this phrase, “returning to the real world”. As though one of these worlds is real and the other is not. And besides, which is which?

At times, we may have it backwards.

Sometimes what we discover to be resonant truths …

… are things that we’ve quietly told ourselves many times — but hadn’t yet spoken aloud.

Speaking truth can help us to recognize it as such.

The fabric of who we are is woven together — moment after moment — by us placing one thing above all else.

Attending now to this thing, not another.

And then to these things, but not other things.

How beautiful that in some instances, the thing that is of utmost importance — beyond all the personal and universal challenges — is listening to a friend. Or making a photograph. Or washing a cup. Or singing.

Or reading a reflection such as this.

The inevitable peaks and valleys give character to our story, but it’s the ongoing rhythm of our attention — what we choose to notice, above all else — that shapes the contours of who we become.

One of the many challenges of starting something new — like a business, a career, or a project — is that the gestation period can be unknown.

The time needed to gain sufficient skill, customers, market share, or reputation could be weeks or it could be years.

Investors may have a clear sense of whether something is on track or taking too long. But for many of our endeavors, it’s up to us to determine the acceptable timeline.

Quit or persist? It’s a question that deserves periodic revisiting in nearly everything we do.