Most newly planted trees don’t need to be anchored and supported; they’ll grow just fine on their own. Staking (when it’s done improperly) can actually harm a tree. And if staked too long, the tree will develop an overall weaker root structure.

But there are indeed times when a sapling needs a little help. When it can’t stand on its own, where there are high winds, where the soil is particularly loose — these are times when staking is fully appropriate.

It’s not because the tree is particularly weak. Or lazy. Or unmotivated. Or cheating.

It’s because — in order to eventually thrive — the tree requires a reasonable level of temporary support.

We can use this as a metaphor. Whether we ourselves need the support, or we’re providing it, or we’re witnessing it … we can recognize that there’s a time and place. And done properly, it can be in service of future growth and independence.

Change is possible. Not just small change. Significant, transformative change. Internal and external, intrinsic and extrinsic.

We know this, but sometimes reminders are helpful.

One look at a 32-year-old Willie Nelson is plenty convincing.

(Photo by Les Leverett/Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images)

With gratitude to Hayley Grgurich for her excellent writing and for pointing to this photo in a recent post. (Read it here.)

It might be a lifelong project, but get a sense of who you are and lean into it.

As Hayley reminds us: It’s not too late and you’re not too old.

Be careful about the dangers of not enough. Too many goal-oriented achievers — with hearts in the right place — become overly fixated on the next ladder rung.

• “I have more influence than I’ve ever had, but it’s not quite enough.”

• “I’m earning more money than I’ve ever earned, but it’s not quite enough.”

• “I’m more connected than I’ve ever been, but it’s not quite enough.”

• “I have more agency than I’ve ever had, but it’s not quite enough.”

• “I’m more productive than I’ve ever been, but it’s not quite enough.”

These attitudes can fuel forward movement, but they can also blind us to the fruits of our long labors.

Wherever practical, tether your satisfaction to your progress, not your current status. Allow yourself to feel sufficient in this moment. Even as you grow and change. Especially as you grow and change.

There is joy and fullness in where you are. Right now.

Professionals are results-oriented. Even with average inputs, professionals can achieve remarkable outputs.

Even so, the best practice is to begin with the stuff of good quality.

Not relying on Photoshop.
Not relying on audio editing.
Not relying on butter and salt.
Not relying on improv skills.
Not relying on tricks of the trade.
Not relying on charm and a winning smile.

But instead, doing the careful work — whether it’s of selection, curation, or preparation — such that the professional polish adds to the effort, but it’s not doing the heavy lifting.

On the snowy hillside, the spectators get cold while the sled riders get warm.

Much of our experience in life tracks with our ability and willingness to move.

Just because you don’t publish doesn’t mean you shouldn’t capture your thoughts.

Just because you don’t show doesn’t mean you shouldn’t still make the work.

Doing the work, sharing the work: two separate things.

Don’t let show-and-tell-hesitation get in the way of creation. Let the work continue … even if you’re the only one who ever sees it.

How we contend with boredom is possibly a measure of how willing we are to engage with our innate creative spirit.

American painter Richard Diebenkorn relayed this beautiful story in 1977.

“When I was a boy riding in the family car in the country (very bored) I aligned telegraph poles. As the car moved and the scene altered I might watch one in the foreground as it approached another in the middle distance and at the moment they coincided I would make a click inside my head. This became a game – basically quite simple – but lending itself to much greater complexity and difficulty as such as, where the situation permitted, stacking two poles to make a quite high one or the aligning of members in three of more levels of depth, the click always defining the critical instant when a notable visual phenomenon was occurring “out there.” The game has endless possibilities of variation such as when fence rails move like arrows or battering rams and strike stationary targets such as buildings or animals or simply form momentary crosses in the landscape. The game doesn’t require an automobile either, since while simply standing on the street an airplane may be seen, during that click, to be adhering to building face or to a telephone wire.”

* * *

We don’t need devices or distractions or digital inputs to enliven our imaginations. All that we need is in front of our eyes already … if we’re willing to look for it.

Marketers like to create urgency. And often enough, it works.

“Last day to save 50%”
“Last day to join”
“Last day to order”

We recognize the urgency and occasionally, we act.

But plenty of things — worthwhile things — rarely seem urgent. How often do we see:

“Last day to paint a landscape”
“Last day to exercise”
“Last day to mentor a young person”
“Last day to ponder deep questions”

We don’t.

But it’s in our best interest to usher important things in front of what’s flashy. To sideline the gimmicks and to prioritize what’s meaningful.

The irony is that another “urgent last-chance” opportunity will always come along. Meanwhile, meaningful activities quietly slip away if we don’t give them heed.

In considering an unexpectedly shorter rehearsal schedule, the school band director explained, “If we were going to cut a piece from the concert program, it was going to be one of the easier songs. The challenging pieces are too fun to not play.”

In the end, she didn’t cut any songs and the concert was a great success.

Not all directors think this way. With limited rehearsal time, some might take the perfectly reasonable approach of playing the easier songs (and playing them well) and discarding the more complicated arrangements.

Luckily, some choose not to aim for perfectly reasonable … but to aim for remarkable.

And we all benefit from that moxie.

In cryptography, there’s something called a “brute force” attack. It’s a trial-and-error method of hacking. In it, an attacker (using tools and software) attempts to guess usernames, passwords, encryption-keys, or hidden-URLs. Every possible combination is tried.

The thing is, brute force attacks are effective — particularly with weak passwords. (Advice: be sure to implement multi-factor authentication wherever possible.)

On good days, when we’re facing a problem — we can sit quietly with a cup of coffee, sunshine, blue skies … and the solution is gifted to us. A bit of quiet reflection is sufficient for coaxing the answers to our questions.

But sometimes, problems are stubborn and solutions are elusive.

In these cases, we might consider our own version of a brute force attack.

How can we bring a “try everything” attitude to a problem? How can we trial-and-error our way to a solution? How can we — for a period of time — sustainably churn through all the possibilities until we land upon the answer we seek?

We can’t live in brute force attack mode, but perhaps we can keep it in mind as a method for special cases.

For newborns, almost everyone in the world is bigger, faster, more knowledgeable, and more able. Infants don’t have a lot of hang-ups about this. There’s no shame or envy. There’s just a sense of, “this is what the world is like.”

But then we begin to develop. And we develop differently. And we begin to notice this. And depending on how things play out, and depending on what we’re measuring, we might feel a little better-than. Or a little lesser-than. Or somewhere in the middle.

For tiny humans, however, it’s just about learning the next skill. How do I get food? How do I get attention? How do I move my body? What’s that thing over there? Did that sound just come from me?

As adults, we can learn from infants. We can re-adopt their sense of wonder. We can delight in learning new things. And most importantly, we can get back to growing little by little. Back to taking the next steps in our journey without feeling the overwhelm of conquering the next mile.

And sure: we can fuss and cry and nap every so often … if we think it will help.

Availability can’t be ignored; it’s a necessary part of the equation.

When we work with what’s available, projects can move forward.

When we insist upon specific materials or conditions, we’re at the mercy of availability.

Projects often face this critical crossroad: wait for the ideal, or work with what’s available.

Mostly, we take the approach of “best available” rather than putting ourselves in an indefinite holding pattern (though sometimes, waiting is our only option).

But if we find ourselves in too many holding patterns, it’s worth considering whether it has to do with availability, or if we’re stalling for other reasons.

If someone shouts “Time!” during a baseball game, usually it’s a call for suspension of play. That is, “Time-out.”

If someone shouts “Time!” during a soccer match, it’s usually a shorthand message to the player controlling the ball: “Don’t rush. You have time before any defenders become a significant threat.”

Same words, different games, different meanings.

In life, the signs and signals we send and receive … they’re not universal.

When we send a message (or try to decode what’s being conveyed to us) we need to know what game is being played.

When we make ripples in a pond we can witness the effects — at least, on the surface.

But the ripples we make in life … some of them we see, many we don’t. Nevertheless, we’re making ripples all the time.

So part of it is having faith that we’re making an impact, even when we can’t fully see it.

Sometimes, the ripples will call back to us, and our hearts will be filled knowing that we’ve made a difference.

But either way — even without sight and sound — ripples we will continue to make.

“Here. We have boxes of money for you. Take them.”

“I just don’t know. So many boxes. How will I move these? And where will I put them? Do I have to recycle the cardboard? It all just seems so complicated.”

* * *

There’s the old saying, “Where there’s a will there’s a way.”

And yet. Sometimes there’s a clear way, but no will. Instead, there’s fear or apprehension or uncertainty or resistance.

It’s up to us to listen to our inner thoughts carefully. Well-reasoned caution has a particular voice. Over-cautious fear has another. It’s good to know the difference.

H/T David

There is a cost, always.

Of buying. But also of not buying.
Of doing. And of not doing.
Of speaking. And of silence.
Of connecting and of isolating.
Of going and of staying.

Costs are on both sides. But there are benefits on both sides, too.

Where we go wrong is in overvaluing the status quo … because the cost of change seems easy to calculate and uncomfortably disruptive.

But all too often, the status quo can cost us more.

Every experience in your life has led up to this very moment.

And every moment in your life has given you the experience you need to navigate today.

We are an enduringly able culmination, ready for whatever may come.

One symptom of love is that we begin to care about what others care about. The degree of separation finds a bridge.

“I care about it because you care about it.”
”I love them because you love them.”

In a sense, when we love someone else, their cares become our cares.

And when we say, “To you and yours,” indeed we mean it.

The most challenging matchup isn’t you against the world. The most challenging matchup is you against you.

But take heart: depending on how you look at things, the odds may be in your favor.

During the first major snowfall after I turned sixteen, my father gave me the keys to the car and said, “Go find an empty parking lot and learn how to drive in the snow.”

I knew the concepts from driver’s school, but I had never experienced the real thing.

Sure enough, spinning around for thirty minutes taught me plenty about how to maneuver the vehicle in slippery conditions. It was fun, too.

* * *

Find the snowy parking lots in life. Go where you can learn and play without causing any real damage. And don’t just go slow: purposely find the edge of control so you know what to do when things start to go sideways.

Because sometimes we have to leave dry pavement to learn valuable lessons.