Recall the parable of the lumberjack. If his life depended on his ability to cut down a tree in five minutes, he’d spend the first three minutes sharpening his axe.

It’s a useful and well-told story about preparation.

We might also imagine — under pressure of such dire consequences — the lumberjack panicking for the first few minutes. Or hastily sharpening for thirty seconds before diving into the act of vigorous chopping.

Three minutes. Sixty percent. It would take a great deal of discipline. Can you imagine the half-way mark? Two-and-a-half minutes in, and zero progress on the tree itself?

But we understand the principle. The sharpening is what enables efficient cutting. The preparation is in service of eventual action.

Whether the pressure is high or low, how we prepare lays the groundwork for how we might perform.

Be patient in your sharpening.

This is a thought from James Clear. If you haven’t seen it, it’s worth a read:

“I think about decisions in three ways: hats, haircuts, and tattoos.

“Most decisions are like hats. Try one and if you don’t like it, put it back and try another. The cost of a mistake is low, so move quickly and try a bunch of hats.

“Some decisions are like haircuts. You can fix a bad one, but it won’t be quick and you might feel foolish for awhile. That said, don’t be scared of a bad haircut. Trying something new is usually a risk worth taking. If it doesn’t work out, by this time next year you will have moved on and so will everyone else.

“A few decisions are like tattoos. Once you make them, you have to live with them. Some mistakes are irreversible. Maybe you’ll move on for a moment, but then you’ll glance in the mirror and be reminded of that choice all over again. Even years later, the decision leaves a mark. When you’re dealing with an irreversible choice, move slowly and think carefully.”

Thanks for the insight, James. Well said.

Over the next few months, my friend Kevin will run in a half-dozen races. 50 km. 100 km. Long, challenging races. With this schedule, he trains steadily.

“I don’t win these races. I enter them because I need goals. Something has to get me out there running when it’s cold and raining.”

We can learn from Kevin’s example.

Make some commitments that will prompt you to set some goals … which will lead you to establish healthy habits.

Figure out how to keep some tension in the equation so that when it’s your version of cold and raining, you still have reason to continue the practice.

Years ago, my now-wife and I visited a florist to choose flowers for our wedding. As we looked through the displays, catalogs, and examples, we remarked, “These are pretty. And these are pretty. Oh, and these are pretty too.”

It didn’t take long for us to realize: they’re flowers. They’re all pretty.

We couldn’t simply choose by a process of elimination. We would have to choose from among many beautiful options.

Life, generally, is similar. We will always have important things to do. Moreover, the important things will always outnumber our capacity. That is, from among all the important things we could do, we will have to say “yes” to some and “no” to many. Even to worthy causes.

And of course, saying “no” to worthy causes doesn’t feel good. But we can remind ourselves: when we say “no” to something, it’s in service of our commitment to something else.

We can’t commit to every good and worthy thing. But we can be intentional about the commitments we do make.

It’s not just the words we need to hear.

It’s who we need to say them.

Because to our heart, the speaker matters.

Mykola Soloviov is a disabled painter living in Eastern Ukraine. His work is largely unknown. For years, before he was bedridden, Mykola would paint the same landscapes again and again.

He would explain to his wife, “It’s not about what you paint, it’s about how you paint it.”

How true.

Even standing in the same spot, how we approach the act of painting will change over time. And the world is in constant flux. The daylight, the moonlight, the weather, the foliage, the seasons, the signs of human industry. They’re always changing. And so are we.

Thus, our creative efforts — that is to say, our unique response to the world around us — even in steadfast repetition … can always be fresh.

H/T Samya Kullab, Vasilisa Stepanenko: AP News

It’s tempting to keep your ambitions and desires close to the vest.

Don’t.

Instead, work in public. Let your striving be seen. Reveal your hunger.

Because (while not everyone) enough people with domain knowledge, experience, and influence — are generous, mentor-minded humans who seek to help those who seek help.

But when we work in complete secrecy, we conceal ourselves from those who would eagerly aid and advise.

“Unlikely to succeed” should carry a lot of weight when you’re considering life and death or risk of catastrophic failure.

But it’s not at all helpful to carry this thought in most areas of life. Even if it’s statistically true.

Because often, a resultant failure carries no lasting consequence. Instead, it’s just a matter of, “that didn’t work.” And we learn, we grow, and continue on.

* * *

“Improbable” is the scrim that casts a shadow of impossibility over many paths — including those which are perfectly viable.

We seek truth, and we ought.

But not every true thing need be uttered.

And not every false thing need be exposed.

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.