Sometimes massive change can happen overnight. Welcome or otherwise, the landscape can shift in the blink of an eye.

But more often, change is slow. A bit of pressure here. A firm movement there. A new, sustained practice. And slowly … gradually … change happens.

Which is to say we work more often with chisels and mallets than with bulldozers and blasting caps.

* * *

There’s the work, and there’s the work of being patient with our work.

Bit by bit. Little by little.

And we move mountains.

The world will often teach us things we didn’t know we needed to learn.

Eager, curious, studious, resistant, stubborn, delinquent — we get to decide what kind of student we will be.

As in academics, the way we approach the lessons will influence what we learn from them.

Siberian tigers have been known to drag thousand-pound prey up mountain faces and into trees.

Strong as they are, you won’t find them pulling wagons or plowing fields.

Tigers, it turns out, are not good candidates for domestication.

* * *

There’s a variety of temperaments within each of us. Sometimes we’re like draft horses. Other times, we’re more like tigers. It’s situational.

When we haven’t struck the proper balance, we may feel like a horse in a birch forest or a tiger in a stall barn.

In these cases, a change in setting could change everything.

Be wary of the colleague who says, “I’ve sent four emails, and I still haven’t received a reply!”

At some point, if we haven’t gotten what we want, we have to try a different approach.

Persistence has its place, but persistence alone doesn’t get us off the hook — particularly if our methods prove ineffective.

“I’ve tried it again and again,” is not the same as, “I tried one way, and then another, and then another.”

Because repeating a failed method over and over can be a way of hiding from the real work.

It’s not quite, “try, try again,” but rather, “try, try another way.”

A firm commitment to do something today will always best an exuberant promise to act tomorrow.

When motivation and timing align … don’t wait. Do.

Now is the time.

Some of the best lessons we learn come not from the center of our knowledge — where we’re comfortable — but from the edges.

We grow in remarkable ways on the frontiers where we’re likely to misstep … the places where we’re uncomfortable.

Comfortable learning is perfectly fine and quite sustainable. But learning from a challenging stretch can be magical.

Consider: at this moment, there may be 10,000 commercial airplanes in the sky above you. Like a hive of activity in a well-organized network, but miles above.

As attentive as we are, there are layers upon layers of movement and activity that go unnoticed until we begin to look carefully.

This is what trying looks like.
This is what struggle looks like.
This is what love looks like.
This is what success looks like.
This is what insecurity looks like.
This is what pride looks like.
This is what fear looks like.
This is what sadness looks like.
This is what faith looks like.
This is what exhaustion looks like.
This is what frustration looks like.
This is what grief looks like.
This is what friendship looks like.
This is what selflessness looks like.
This is what play looks like.
This is what freedom looks like.
This is what _______ looks like.

Because sometimes we don’t know how it presents itself. Or one looks like the other. Or both look the same. Seen in others and seen in ourselves.

Humans are complex. What we witness — words, actions, worldviews, modes and moods — is the result of a nuanced (and sometimes indistinct) equation. Even the stories we know, we know only in part.

But it’s not always a problem to fully solve. Sometimes it’s a mystery to embrace with curiosity and compassion.

It’s natural: we tend to seek information that confirms what we already believe.

But how often are we brave enough to risk being wrong? To seek truth, even if what we discover is not what we want to hear?

It’s understandable: a stage presence is distinct. It’s not the same as a one-on-one interaction.

But it’s satisfying to encounter people who have a personality that rhymes, whether they’re behind a podium or at a kitchen table. Not that the public and private sides are of the same expression, but that they’re of the same spirit.

Consistency: it’s welcome when we find it.

You have every reason to be in a bad mood. To feel angry, frustrated, cheated, and miserable.

No one would blame you.

But.

There are plenty of reasons for you to rejoice. To feel gratitude, joy, peace, and contentment.

Sometimes, we forget that we can choose.

But we can.

It might take practice, but we can.

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.