Arlo Guthrie is known to have said something like, “Songs are like fish. You just gotta have your line in the water. And it’s a bad idea to fish downstream from Bob Dylan.”

Much of creativity is like this (aside from the part about Dylan).

For us to engage with our creative spirit, we have to find ways to have our lines in the water. To watch. To listen. To be open. To be receptive.

And we can extend the metaphor, too. We have to find time to go to the water. To engage with it, float upon its surface, wade into it.

The fish are out there, but we won’t catch any if we’re far from the water’s edge with our hands in our pockets.

The constancy of time can be a kind of comfort.

Even when we’re overwhelmed by the busyness of life. Tasks, responsibilities, interests … all of it.

Whether we get it all done or not, time continues to move. It doesn’t panic. It doesn’t worry. It doesn’t slow in sympathy or rush in impatience.

It merely continues on as it always has.

We can fight it, but better to accept it as a loyal companion.

Many will hear the sounds.
Few will listen for the cadence.
Still fewer will contribute rhythms of their own.

We exist within a living symphony. We can choose to listen and participate, or we can hear it all as noise. The choice is ours.

Consider some of the voices you regularly allow into your day.

What is their temperament? What’s their worldview? How do they navigate challenge and diversity? How might you describe their sense of humor, joy, and curiosity?

Not just in our personal interactions, but in the materials we read, the news we consume, and the feeds we follow … we’re continually hosting a gathering.

The invitations matter. The gate crashers matter. The place of honor matters.

We can’t live our lives in ignorance and bliss … like a rosy Pollyanna-themed dream. But when it comes to our mental space, we can choose who gets invited, who gets a microphone, and who we politely (maybe just occasionally) leave out of the mix.

He’s out of shape.
She’s bent out of shape.
We’re in no shape for that.

However.

We don’t really become shapeless. At any point, we do indeed have a shape.

Maybe the shape is permanent. (Probably it’s not.)

But most of the time, it’s more useful to recognize what is rather than commenting on what isn’t.

Like looking at a map. A journey is impossible without identifying “you are here.” Even with destinations in mind, we can’t focus on “you are not here” — that’s the entire rest of the map.

Acknowledge your shape. Note your location. Go from there.

In the corner of my dining room, there’s a small box with some items I took on a recent trip. The box doesn’t belong there. The items in the box don’t belong there. And yet.

I’ve come to realize: the box is still there because I have not yet made unpacking it more important than everything else.

That’s how things get done. For a moment in time, we prioritize one thing above all else.

So the box will be put away when I’ve placed it above other projects and activities. Above study. Above self-care. Above relaxation. Above socializing. Above reading the news, checking email, household chores, family matters …

So the question is — at any given moment — what are you prioritizing above all else?

Par-baking is a cooking technique where bread is baked to near completion (eighty percent or so) then quickly frozen. The bread can be stored and then finished off another time.

Unfortunately, projects don’t usually work this way.

Partly baked, unfinished projects tend to freeze on their own … into a kind of stuckness that’s hard to overcome.

Better to stay with it — even through some discomfort — to usher the work into its completion.

The kitchen is going to smell great either way, but fully baked loaves are much more satisfying than a stocked freezer.

A group of third graders created personal wish lists. The lists included things like:

I wish there was no cancer.
I wish there was peace.
I wish everyone was nice.
I wish nobody was homeless.

None of the wishes had to do with appearances. Or toys. Or money. Or power.

Because when you’re eight years old, you haven’t gotten confused about what’s truly important.

Here’s to wishing well … and to working in such a way that wishes come true.

Starting is not the same as finishing.

Early work in creative pursuits — where the path is undetermined, where possibility abounds — is not the same as later work, where the project has progressed, where imaginative work shifts to processes and task lists.

And it’s a necessary part of the practice; we have to close loops.

Sometimes tedious, sometimes less exciting, but fully necessary.

By learning to close the loops, we eventually weave together a tapestry of creative acts. A beautiful, ever-expanding contribution.

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.