There’s always our own voice in our head.

But when we’re lucky, the voices of friends are there, too. In our heads and in our hearts.

And they travel with us like wind in our sails.

When the going is difficult, or part of the journey feels like a slog, we need only listen for the voices.

We’re often losing ourselves — in activity and in thought.

And we can choose where we get lost. In our work. In a book. In sport. In the news. In social media. In creative acts. In service. In meditation and prayer. In conversation …

Getting lost is a valuable experience — but not all immersion is equal.

Yes, haste makes waste.

But sometimes, haste brings enough activity, energy, and even chaos … to unstick us.

In other words, a little haste can get us going.

And we can even make haste without being hasty.

Surrounded by artificial intelligence, computer-generated imagery, and a digitized everything …

Go into nature. Smell the soil. Step into the stream. Stand against the wind.

Soak up what cannot be transmitted wirelessly and stored on servers.

Not to reject technology, but from time to time to connect to our source.

It awaits us.

“You should write a memoir.”
“You should try this activity.”
“You should take that class.”

We need to chart our own paths, make our own decisions.

But there are times when the unsolicited advice of others jibes with a faint inclination or tepid willingness of our own. And we choose to leap.

And deciding to follow that advice changes our life significantly.

We do the work, of course. We are the actors. But being open to occasional stage direction can be a good thing.

Creativity works in seasons. The input, the willingness, the output. All seasonal.

Don’t be surprised when the temperature turns or the leaves change. It’s all part of a natural rhythm.

There are times when energy comes from doing, not from resting.

That we’re bolstered and rewarded by taking the first step.

Being able to act — even when we’re tired, even when we don’t quite feel like it — lets us dance with possibility. No guarantees, but the magic of possibility.

We can work diligently to to account for contingencies, to create fail-safes and fallback plans. We can insulate ourselves from risk and exposure.

Basically, we can create a bubble-wrapped existence.

But where’s the fun in that?

Toddlers know this intuitively. When they encounter bubble wrap, there’s no hesitation: they get straight to popping.

A little safety can create a good life. But too much safety gets in the way of good living.

“How did that help?”

After any number of activities, this is a wise question to ask.

And sometimes the answer is clear and reasonable.

Other times, the reflection can bring about feelings of regret … or the discovery, “Well, it didn’t help at all.”

But reflection isn’t always about self-chiding. We need to reflect when we’ve done well, too.

Because good, effective acts often bear repeating.

Just remember that whether a step forward or a step back, our dance is always wayfinding.

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.