“Square peg in a round hole,” they say.

However, what if we’re not pegs, but clay?

And what if our shape-matching isn’t permanent, but temporary?

That we can modulate and shift and change — and, yes, fit — as a way of interaction. As a way of passage. As a way of finding a way.

Our creativity lets us operate beyond the limitations of pegs and holes.

We are the shapes we invent.

Live life with the appropriate punctuation.

Not so fast and constant that it’s a run-on sentence.
Not so disjointed that it’s a collection of fragments.
Not so hesitant that the words don’t come together.
Not so orderly that there’s not room for poetic license.
Not so even that there’s not occasion for breaks and pauses.

Rather, just the right amount of flow, rhythm, and style.

From the restaurant’s carryout counter, I would need to take two trips to manage all the food.

As was placing the first group of containers in the vehicle, I turned to go back into the building. To my surprise, right behind me was a restaurant employee carrying the rest of the order.

She handed me the boxes saying, “I didn’t have anything else I was doing. Have a nice night!”

I was grateful for the help. Grateful, too, that in a brief moment of calm at a busy restaurant, this employee saw an opportunity to be helpful, and she took action.

The best of us are always on the lookout for ways to help … and the best of us rise to the occasion.

“This is what it feels like.”

Sometimes, the recognition catches us off guard. We experience something for the first time, or we shift into a new chapter of life … and we think, “I didn't realize it would be this way.”

And that may be a delightful surprise. Or it may be a curious revelation. Or it could even be an uncomfortable disappointment.

Whatever the color of the experience, it’s a disconnect between the story we formed long ago and what’s happening in the present moment.

But that’s understandable; we’re rarely good at predicting the future.

Whether expected or surprising, capture the feeling of what today feels like. This is what it’s like right now.

Most of the time, you don’t make a bed just to use it right away. You make a bed so it’s ready for later — and to create a small bit of order in the meantime. (Admiral William H. McRaven offers well-known advice about it.)

The practice is grounded in good habits, attention to detail, and setting a tidy environment — one that will be appreciated now and in the future. It’s also a small act that creates a foundation for positive forward motion.

Making the bed happens to function nicely as a metaphor, too.

Where are you doing the good work of making beds?

Few would envy tidying the house, packing the luggage, loading the vehicle, or sitting in traffic.

Those many hours of sweat and decision are not the stuff of dreams.

However, safely at the destination — a split-second of time, captured with a camera in a serene vacation spot — tells a different story. One that’s desirable, but one that’s false through its omissions.

We’re master storytellers. From an infinitesimal slice of human experience, we can fill in the rest of the story … sometimes with all the highlights and none of the struggle.

The advice is not to limit our sense of sonder. Or to curtail our tendency to invent stories. But rather, to catch ourselves when we’ve simplified and glorified someone else’s experience, all because of a pinhole view from the outside.

What are you feeling lately?

What’s the source? That is, what’s contributing to those feelings?

Certain circumstances play outsized roles in coloring our outlook. (This can be for better or worse.)

An awareness of the source of our feelings can help us to keep things in perspective. Likewise, it can help us to amplify the signal of things we’d like to feel more of … while keeping the other sources in check.

“Is that something you half-learned from the internet?”

My question to a colleague was in jest.

But it’s something for us to keep in check: half-learning.

There’s a difference between going quickly and lightly, and haphazard skimming.

Take note of the times when it makes sense to slow down and to learn deeply. Times when a headline and a blurb are insufficient. Times that merit a deep dive and further reading.

Times when contemplation and reflection are more valuable than moving briskly to catch the next firefly.

A storm rolled into our town yesterday.

My son observed, “If you look over there, it looks like a bad day. But if you look this other way, it looks like a good day.”

He was right. And I pointed out the broader implications.

He agreed.

In life, there are always storms rolling in, storms rolling out, and sunshine in between.

Which way do you choose to look?

While the Muse can seem elusive, consider the many states through which creativity is expressed.

The artist in awe. The artist suffering. The artist coaxing. The artist thrashing. The joyful artist. The passionate artist. The instructive artist. The playful artist. The prayerful artist. The artist in dialogue. The artist in monologue.

Our condition is wildly variable. Thankfully, creativity can meet us wherever may we find ourselves.

The better students and athletes listen not just when the instructor is speaking to them, but whenever the instructor is speaking. A suggestion to a classmate, some advice for a teammate, a minor correction to someone’s technique — these are not bits of wisdom just for others. Rather, these are bits of wisdom that can help bring color and resolution to one’s own understanding.

The principle is not to be nosy or to eavesdrop — or to think that advice for others is always suited for us — but to have eyes and ears that are eager to learn, whenever knowledge is shared.

“Engaging with the aesthetic of a photographer’s work is different than engaging with the ideas of their work.”

Photographer Stephen Voss gives us this wisdom in his latest issue of Light Readings.

The words prompt an invitation to be patient with any creative work we don’t immediately appreciate or understand.

Ideas and aesthetics are not one and the same.

Learning and inspiration can be sparked by either, even when one of them seems inaccessible.

For three months now, a laser printer has displayed a “toner low” prompt.

And for three months, its print quality has remained flawless.

In some situations, “low” prompts necessary, immediate action. In others, it’s an early warning. In still others, “low” is part of the natural cycle of things, and nothing needs to be done.

In a broad sense, choosing between “wait and see” and “take action now” is one of life’s ongoing questions.

No matter your craft, you’ll have a mix of wins and losses, hits and misses, good shots and bad shots.

As you face your next opportunity, you get to choose: Do I remind myself of my wins? Or my losses? What’s the story I will tell myself in this moment?

Sometimes a simple reminder is all it takes to tip our scales one way or another.

Choose the kind of reminder that will lean you in the right direction.

H/T DLG

Problems are rarely isolated. Most often, there are multiple layers, and a number of contingencies and dependencies.

One helpful practice is to consider, “What’s the problem I’m trying to solve?” We might even need to ask this more than once to find clarity.

But an equally valuable question is this: “Are there related problems I need to address first?”

These related problems can be practical (I need to buy a certain ingredient before I can begin cooking) but they can also be personal (I need to overcome my fear of embarrassment in order to ask for help).

It’s these personal considerations that can be quietly limiting. We tend to dismiss them in service of the “larger” problems. But this can be a mistake.

Pause. See the bigger picture. Triage the situation. Allow yourself the grace to do what’s needed.

Some things that can rise to the top: eat, rest, sleep, mourn, forgive, trust, listen, heal, ask, allow.

When we address problems in the proper sequence, we often travel with more ease and to greater effect.

The person who bemoaned the rain later remarked that the sun was too hot. Earlier in the week, it was too windy. Later, it wasn’t warm enough.

There’s a reliable pattern: the weather will change, and this person will complain about it.

We can practice two skills. One, widening the bounds of what we we consider reasonable and unremarkable. And two, learning to approach our environment as a capable participant, not an unwilling victim.

It’s also good to recall the wisdom that while we don’t choose the weather, we do choose our attitude towards it and we can choose what to wear.

There’s a simple principle in aiming: if you’re missing to the right, aim more to the left.

And we don’t always like simple principles.

Often, we want to keep aiming where we’ve been aiming, but to achieve better results.

It can take a little humility to do the sensible thing … to do what works when it’s not exactly how we had planned to do it.

“Bloom where you’re planted.”

You can’t bloom where someone else is planted, and someone else can’t bloom in your place.

If you’re within fertile soil, why would you remain dormant?

Invite the bloom. Tend to it. Allow it.

Even delight in it.

Life is fragile. Go gently.
You are resilient. Go hard.

Life is unpredictable. Go carefully.
You are resourceful. Go boldly.

Life is beautiful. Notice it.
You are beautiful. Remember it.

In a given day, what occupies your time?

How much of what you’re doing is paying attention to what others are doing?

Awareness is good, but too much awareness has a cost.

We can’t live as spectators. We have a larger part to play. One that invites us to move out of the viewing gallery and into active roles.

From observers to actors.

Not just watching, but participating.