The ideas don’t always come from within.

Because the universe is generous to creative spirits.

And there are times when the ideas are presented to us, fully formed.

Yes, we have to do the work.

But the spark can given to us.

We just have to be open.

Typical days and atypical days.

No matter what we experience — joys and sorrows, wins and losses — this is the cycle we navigate. We have many typical days, and a few atypical days. It’s hard to say which are more consequential.

Perhaps what we can consider is the way we approach either kind of day. We never know if a day will be typical or atypical, but we can choose to bring our same, resilient, intentional self to both.

This email could have been a meeting.

Productivity seekers gladly condemn unnecessary meetings whose purpose could have been achieved through a well-written email.

Agreed.

But let’s not live through posts, texts, and emails. Let’s remember the value of face-to-face.

Let’s meet intentionally. Let’s gather with purpose. Let’s connect in the way nature designed.

Our shortcuts and shorthand are the wheels of culture.

But synchronous meeting — in time and space — feeds us in ways that the shortcuts do not.

Every leap involves a little bit of uncertainty. But just because there’s uncertainty doesn’t mean we need to jump stiff-legged with our eyes closed. We can aim, we can cultivate vision, and we can plan for soft landings.

It might not always turn out the way we’d like, but there’s a lot we can do to avoid sprained ankles and broken legs.

Leaping is part of any meaningful endeavor. But the courage to leap doesn’t have to come without a plan to land; in fact, it shouldn’t. We can learn to do both.

Sometimes you noodle your way into a melody. You start with a note, then you respond to that note … and you keep going. Before long, you’ve got something.

Many creative paths can work this way. Whether it’s a daily blog or a practice of drawing and painting or some other regular act. Sometimes you just start somewhere and you see where it goes.

Some people think that artist have special gifts.

Maybe so.

But mostly, it’s a practice of starting and following. People who have convinced themselves that they’re not creative are simply not doing either.

January Second: that’s today. What a great day to have a January First mentality.

Because we can call upon that kind of optimism and vision whenever we choose.

The thing about fresh starts is that they’re regularly available to us.

Even today.

Today isn’t a special day of big promises, new beginnings, and fresh starts.

Rather, it’s another day as always. Same as yesterday, same as tomorrow.

Special in a sense that every day is special. Expectant with possibility like every moment of every day.

So make promises. Make commitments. Begin new habits.

But not in a way that’s different from what you would have done yesterday. And not in a way that’s different from what you’ll do tomorrow.

A day becomes a memorable inflection point when you make it so — whenever it happens during the year.

As we make, we too, are being made.

As we create, we play part in our own creation.

As we act upon others, indeed, we act upon ourselves.

While assembling a flatpack cabinet, I was ready to retrieve some bar clamps to help coax two stubborn pieces into place. That’s when I realized a single dowel wasn’t aligned to its hole. With a minor adjustment, all the pieces slid together effortlessly.

How often do we choose force when the situation calls for alignment? Or short-term command and control instead of the slower work of gaining enrollment?

There are plenty of times when clamps, ratchet straps, and hammers are exactly what’s needed. But often, thoughtful investigation will reveal a smoother, more effective path forward.

What if the next interaction you had was recorded, reviewed, and evaluated as part of your job interview?

Whether it’s a conversation with a colleague, a proprietor, a neighbor, or a child … what if that single interaction was analyzed? What if it mattered?

We’re not typically judged based solely on that kind of thin slice. But at times, we are.

Sometimes a single interaction is consequential.

This seems stressful. We can’t navigate every social interaction at peak performance.

But we can work to adjust our default. We can practice being thoughtful, courteous, curious, and poised.

And over time, random samples of how we interact — they’re likely to pass muster.

My son recently put together a lamp that was part of an engineering kit designed for children. After he was finished, I noticed a few extra parts in the box. I asked him about them.

“Yeah. Those were kind of tricky to install, so I skipped them.”

I laughed. It’s a totally natural thing to do: find a way to work around the tricky parts.

And this can be a good survival skill — a strategy for keeping forward motion.

But in the long run, it pays to figure out the tricky parts. In many endeavors, the tricky parts are what stand between good-enough and remarkable.

Planning and doing are separate activities. Both have a time and place. Sometimes they overlap. Sometimes they’re independent. And sometimes, they’re blind to one another.

The industrious, optimistic version of you — the one that creates the to-do list — is not necessarily the same version of you that executes the tasks.

Likewise, sometimes you can jump into action without having prioritized, mapped, and itemized.

What to do?

Nothing drastic. Just be aware. Recognize your various modes of operation. And mostly, give yourself some grace.

What can I get for you?
What can I buy for you?
What can I do for you?
What can I be for you?

These questions can all be born out of love, but none are quite the same.

Sometimes we feel a thing so greatly that we have to sing it — not necessarily with our voices, but with our hearts.

What has your heart been feeling lately? Have you let it sing?

Maybe it’s time.

How many wizard stories were written before J.K. Rowling wrote Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone? And how many musicals had been written before Lin-Manuel Miranda created Hamilton? Or recordings of “America the Beautiful” before Ray Charles’ version in 1972?

There’s no guarantee that our own ideas and voices will catch fire. But time and again, we learn that the canon can be expanded. That there’s room for new great work. And if someone is to make an addition, why not us?

Of course, to enrich the world in any way, we have to tend to our craft. Our contribution begins with our creation.

There’s no need to storm anything; when we need ideas, we can invite them.

We’re not raiders so much as welcoming hosts.

And an openness to ideas doesn’t have to be an activity — it can be an ongoing posture.

Q: “How are you?”
A: “I’ve been better.”

Obviously.

In a general sense, it’s highly likely that at any given moment on any given day, you have been better. Zenith, apogee, climax … these are singular moments that recede as soon as they appear.

“I’ve been better” is about as notable as saying, “I’ve been younger.”

True, but not remarkable.

Of course, it all depends on what you’re measuring.

If you’re tracking wisdom, knowledge, and temperance, it very well could be that you’ve never been better.

Maybe in some instances the bar is much lower than we think.

Maybe our hesitation — the one that’s born of fear — is unnecessary.

Maybe the expectation is reasonable. Or even low.

That our normal effort is good enough. Even beyond good enough.

That showing up now — as-is — is what’s important. More important than showing up a little later and a little better.

* * *

Sometimes we need to stop polishing, planning, and procrastinating.

Sometimes we need to go with what we’ve got because now is the time.

Not later.

Now.

A ten-minute evaluation might be all it takes.

“How did we do?”
“What went really well?”
“What do we want to repeat for next time?”
“Where could we improve?”

In some organizations, this is second-nature. Formalized and even mandated.

And maybe this isn’t us.

But just because we don’t have such reviews codified doesn’t mean we can’t informally adopt the practice.

Because our aim is to repeat what’s worth repeating and to improve what’s worth improving. And sometimes an intentional conversation helps us to do that. To think about our process. To acknowledge our wins. To learn about our blind spots.

If we care enough, a brief evaluation could pay dividends.

This is the time of year when — in some parts of the world — the temperatures drop and the days are short. It’s a time of settling in, of cozying up, and of hibernating.

But maybe built into this surrounding quiet is an opportunity. A prompt to step out, to take risks, to experiment. After all, even the quietest voices can be heard when all else is silent.

Perhaps the season is encouraging us to venture down new creative paths.

What’s there to lose?