When doubting or uncertain … don’t think through it. Work through it.

(Besides, you’ll be doing both, because we think while we work.)

Breakthroughs present themselves more quickly through persistent effort — the practice — than through sitting and thinking.

Like balancing on a bicycle, it’s easier when you’re pedaling.

Compelling works of art can be born of inspiration, opportunity, and serendipity … but rarely are they born of convenience.

Indeed, creating great art is often entirely inconvenient.

But well worth the trouble.

Are you making decisions based on what’s going to happen in the next few moments? Or perhaps the next few hours? Or days? Or years?

What timeframe is of significance for you right now?

Of course, this is forward-looking. (Sometimes our decisions are based on the same increments, but looking into the past.)

We don’t control time, but we do get to choose where we place our attention.

On a recent road trip, I was in desperate need of a rest stop and thankfully found a little coffee shop. In the restroom, a small sign said, “You are exactly where you need to be.” I smiled and agreed.

I ordered a drink before heading back on the road. While I waited, I saw another copy of the sign: “You are exactly where you need to be.”

It caused me to pause.

Different place, same message. Again, true.

I had learned the lesson: wherever we are, we’re exactly where we need to be.

Powerful.

Getting what you want in one domain can sometimes mean not getting what you want in another.

Don’t let concern of the tradeoff dampen your satisfaction. There are always tradeoffs. And if you’re getting what you want — even in small doses — then delight in that.

It’s worth knowing what you love doing.

And then considering how often you actually do those things.

And then organizing your life in such a way that there is space for those things.

It’s not self-indulgence; it’s feeding the soul.

And many good things emanate from a well-fed soul.

A few disconnected thoughts here. Ideas that are enough to chew on, but not enough to fill a single post on their own.

* * *

The weeds and the grass can all be cut to the same length. From a distance, it all looks like grass.

If you’re juggling, don’t throw what you can’t catch.

Sometimes, the trouble is with the track, not the horse.

You don’t have to have lost something to be searching.

“I love that!” is similar, but not quite the same as, “I love that because I used to love that.”

One word can contaminate an entire conversation.

The second time you forget something, stop and create a better plan for remembering.

When you change direction radically, the loads can shift, and it can throw you off balance.

Quiet is a condition of what’s within, not of what’s without.

Forgiveness isn’t just for the one being forgiven.

There are seasons when being anchored is a good thing. Times when we need stability. Grounding. Home.

And there are other seasons where we need to be free. Where anchors can weigh us down and begin to sink us.

At times, anchors can keep us from floating away … but they can also prevent us from flying.

Whether the anchor is a story, a situation, or a mindset — it’s good to know whether we’re best served by being tied to it.

When we’re working together … tension, suspicion, and resentment are corrosive.

So the more honesty, clarity, and accountability we can offer, the better.

We often see this in team sports. A play goes pear-shaped and the player responsible immediately pats her chest to indicate: That’s on me. My fault.

And that simple acknowledgement helps everyone to immediately move forward. There’s no debriefing, ruminating, or analysis. (Maybe that comes later.) For now, a simple “that’s on me” clears the slate for a reset and a restart.

Accepting responsibility isn’t a burdening; it’s an unburdening.

When you take action that yields unintended negative consequences, take heart: next time, you’ll have specific awareness of what you’re attempting to avoid.

Sometimes, the way forward is through one more way that doesn’t work just right.

“Avoid the movements that trigger your symptoms. Reduce the activities that make it worse.”

This was the general advice I found regarding some physical pain I’ve been experiencing. I don’t know what I was expecting. More options, I suppose.

But sometimes, the remedy is indeed this simple. And — admittedly — I’ve offered this same advice to my children.

Complaint: “It hurts when I do this.”
Solution: “Don’t do that.”

Unsurprisingly, it’s easier to deliver pragmatic advice than it is to receive it.

It’s possible to lose track of your body in space. To not know the location of your hands relative to your head. Or how your legs and feet are arranged. Or how you’re positioned.

It can happen upon waking, or through dizziness, or mental cloudiness …

In these situations, locating yourself can help. “The floor is here. My body is pressing this way. Here is where my hands are touching,” and so on. It’s a kind of mindfulness training.

And this can help, too, in a larger context. To locate yourself in a broader sense. “This is who I am. This is what I believe. These are the people who are important to me. These are my values.”

We can lose track of ourselves for many reasons. Finding ourselves can sometimes be as simple as naming where we are.

I recently handled a plumbing repair — the unexpected kind that jumps to the front priority queue.

Part of the repair involved removing a pipe from under a sink. With bucket ready, I slowly loosened the coupling nuts. Water began to drip into the bucket (excellent). Then, much more water began to spray vertically, not into the bucket (not ideal).

What I realized — after it was too late — was that a slow disassembly of the parts resulted in some undesirable conditions. The awkward stage where water was spraying instead of draining … that stage was prolonged by my tentative movements.

Had I been swift and confident with the removal, there’d have been far less water on the floor.

Sometimes, you’ve just got to go all in. Not slow, not tentative, but firm and fleet-footed.

Some of us don’t need to train our starting muscle. We like to begin new things. To jump into projects. To plan new adventures. To get screwdrivers and wrenches and to just start turning.

The problem is in finishing.

So a skill worth developing is the skill of completing. Of buttoning up, bringing things across the finish line, finalizing.

When we get good at finishing things, we give ourselves the gift of completion … and the thrill of starting the next thing, fresh, sans the baggage of things left undone.

But for many, finishing isn’t an inherent skill; it’s a muscle that needs training.

You don’t have to be the author.

Yes, it’s fun to be the creator. And it’s in our DNA to create. But we can also point. We can reference. We can see truth and show it to others.

When you encounter it, be at peace — joy even — that the universe has produced such a thing … free of your own labor.

The early victories on our way to the top are always more satisfying than the later victories that keep us there.

Continued success is not nearly as exciting as the first few wins.

Two thoughts.

One, manage your expectations — particularly if you’ve been on a long winning streak in a certain domain (which has the potential to become boring).

Two, try new things. New fields of study, new activities, new ventures. Soak up the joy of those early, hard-earned wins.

We can’t just snap our fingers and have the world exist as we’d like it.

It takes work.

The world we seek is not just an idea, it’s a job description.

It’s our biggest project. Our infinite game. A continual dance of progress and setback and progress again.

Little by little. All of us doing our part.

Perhaps today you can do a small act that helps cultivate the kind of world you want this to be.

The advice is to step back. To view the big picture.

And it’s helpful to see the entire tapestry … to appreciate its beauty and to see our place in it.

But the entire tapestry can also be a bit much. It can easily overwhelm us.

Every so often, we need the comfort of standing close — really close — and immersing ourselves in the details.

Thankfully, we can still make meaningful contributions … even when we have our nose to the fibers.

It may be your strength, but that doesn’t mean you have an endless supply.

Even our greatest skills can be fatigued if we overuse them.

Like any living thing, strengths need periodic rest.

The pause is not giving up or giving in.

It’s taking time and taking care.

Allow yourself the restoration.

“Heart in the oven, head in the fridge.”

This sports advice for high-pressure situations is applicable off the pitch too.

Get fired up. Be passionate. Fight.

But keep your mental composure.

Fire and ice. It’s a winning balance.