“Sleep moves the needle on almost every aspect of brain and body health. I think it’s very clear at this stage that there is no single tissue or major physiological system in your body and no operation of your mind that isn’t wonderfully enhanced by sleep when you get it — or demonstrably impaired when you don’t get enough.”

— Dr. Matt Walker via the Huberman Lab Podcast

These words are a powerful reminder: sleep is the bedrock of health. In our efforts to be productive, we can fight it, we can cheat it, and we can try to do without it. But we’d do much better to recognize its importance and consistently prioritize sleeping sufficiently and well.

Frida Kahlo. Bob Dylan. Vincent van Gogh. Yoko Ono. Louise Bourgeois. Do you like their work?

Maybe yes. Maybe no. Either way, they never cared.

These are selfish artists. They never aimed to please the market. They were (and are) undeterred by public opinion.

They only pursued their own creative interests. True to the art.

But it’s not selfish, really. Seeking to fulfill what the art wants is a generous thing to do. It brings something pure to the world. It co-creates with the universe. It finds art’s truest form.

Following the taste of the masses isn’t serving the masses. Following a creative journey where it wants to take us — that serves the maker, but it serves everyone else too.

Sit alone looking out.
Sit alone looking in.
Sit together looking out.
Sit together looking in.
Sit together looking to each other.

All the modes are valuable. All the modes are necessary. All the modes give us life in some way.

Without sufficient nourishment and exercise, muscles will atrophy.

Likewise with our skills — creativity included.

Choose a routine. Choose a practice. Stick with it.

It doesn’t take much and it’s worth the effort.

Possessing the skill and doing something with the skill — these are two separate things.

To learn the former is not yet to learn the latter.

The friction between knowledge and action is often our biggest challenge.

While luck can always play a part in wins and losses, the more reliable predictor is whether people show up and do their jobs.

It’s less about spectacle and unprecedented performance and more about consistently playing our roles.

The path forward doesn’t require unusual heroics; it mostly asks for routine, steady contribution.

If you were traveling from Oakland to San Fran, you might take 80. Not to 280 (it doesn’t connect). But don’t take 8A, which goes to 880. And if you see 8B on 80, you’re going the wrong way.

All this is to say: enunciation matters. The more clearly we can speak, the more likely we are to find our way.

Creative currency: we all have it. Some people build more wealth than others, but we all have some level of creative currency. And we have individual daily budgets too.

A kind of discomfort can arise when one, we are unaware of the budget. And two, when we discover that we’re low on funds, but still seeking to spend. Said another way, sometimes we spend it all early and we have nothing left for later.

For instance, you might organize a beautiful corporate calendar, and later not have the energy to compose music. Or you might find a clever way to manage conflict resolution in the morning, but have little energy to paint in the evening. Or after developing a new product feature by day, you’re stagnant when it comes to planning the dinner menu.

This is not to say that we can’t maintain a steady level of creativity. Certainly we can. But for many, the funds ebb and flow. And at times, we’ve blown the creative budget.

In those cases, our desire is to restore that currency. While there are many ways to replenish the creative spirit … practically, a good night’s sleep is often the first step.

I reminded my son, “Don’t forget to take care of [that chore].”

“I know.”

“I know you know. But that doesn’t mean you’re going to remember.”

* * *

This happens not just with our responsibilities, but more broadly in life too. We know things. We even know things deep down.

But we don’t always remember.

Things like who we are. What’s important to us. What’s irrelevant. What we’re capable of doing. Who loves us.

We know these things. Still, sometimes we need the reminders.

Knowing and remembering: they’re not the same.

“You could make a lot of money by turning this into a business.”

And.

“You could turn your beloved hobby into a stressful burden by making it a business.”

Both are possibilities. Not guarantees, but possibilities.

Sometimes transitioning to a business is the right thing to do. Other times, the business of business complicates the joy and freedom of doing a thing.

Be aware.

Our dog recently had surgery to remove bladder stones. At home, during the post-operation recovery phase — as we observed his body and behavior — we had three recurring questions:

“Is this normal?”
“Should we be worried about this?”
“What do we do?”

(We spoke to our veterinarian, who helped us to answer these questions.)

This happens often in life, particularly in domains where we lack expertise. We observe phenomena but we’re not exactly sure what they mean. We see a few data points and we don’t know if we’re watching a concerning trend.

Often, the key is to catch ourselves before we begin to catatrophize what we see, or before we ignore something that needs attention. That’s where informed advice becomes essential.

Some of us have wide and varied interests. This can be exciting. And occasionally, it can be problematic.

When we lose the thread between our various endeavors, it can feel like we’re fragmented.

But when we take the time to locate ourselves — when we recognize that we can be complex and integrated — we turn fragments into facets.

And that subtle shift makes a huge difference.

Before you’re ready …

… a situation will develop.
… a relationship will end.
… someone will die.
… the culture will change.
… the world will shift.

This is the business of life. But the truth is, we are ready. It’s just that we want things to unfold as we feel ready. And if we’re honest, we’ll never feel ready for some things.

But if our concern is our ability to navigate these things — then yes, we are indeed ready. After all, we’ve navigated everything we’ve faced thus far. We can do it again.

For its finale, the high school band performed an invigorating Saint-Saëns’ Bacchanale. It was fantastic.

About a minute and a half into the piece, the bass drum hit with such force I could feel it in my chest. As the song continued, I found myself waiting for that passage to return … to feel the drum once again.

It’s worth considering: what elements might we include in our own work — special and judiciously selective — that will keep others waiting for it to come 'round again?

To be sure, “all bass drum all the time” will not work.

But when we frame a thing just so, when we weave a story that has just peaks, we create a magic that others will gladly (and even patiently) seek out.

There’s you not doing the thing.

And then there’s the story you tell yourself about you not doing the thing.

They’re not the same.

Our actions are one thing. The narrative that we create afterwards is quite another. We’re responsible for our actions … but we’re also responsible for the story in our heads.

And it’s easy to forget that we’re the authors.

Advice: be a kind writer. Write and live a story that serves you and others well.

It doesn’t take long. It’s remarkable, actually.

That a person — the right person, at the right time — can tell a story in a minute or two. And that story can have a profound impact on us. It can change us deeply.

And it really can happen in just a few minutes.

With the right storytelling and the right listening, we change. We pivot. We’re born anew.

So our venerable task is to tell stories.

So our venerable task is to listen.

Don’t try to keep up with the Joneses.

Or the Musks, Edisons, Cubans, or Blakelies.
Or the Asimovs, Dylans, Swifts, or Picassos.
Or even the Teresas, Nightingales, or Gandhis.

Be inspired. Be motivated. Learn.

But run your own race.

Our journey is our own. All the measuring sticks, signposts, and mile-markers — they’re only useful when they track our own journey.

Other benchmarks are on others’ benches for a reason.

Light and dark, perfect timing, alignment — it’s no wonder that a solar eclipse captures so much attention; it’s many of the things we naturally appreciate.

May we learn to savor even the lesser contrasts and synchronicities which quietly present themselves throughout our days.

How many colors can you name? A few dozen? Many hundreds?

Scientists estimate that most humans can see about a million colors. Others estimate ten times as much.

We don’t have a name for all that exists.

Even so, don’t let the poverty of language lull you into seeing too simply.

If you’re serious about keeping a streak alive — about establishing a consistent habit — strip away the parenthetical coda, “if I feel like it.”

Because there will be many, many times that you don’t feel like it.

Instead, decide ahead of time: I’m going to do this thing whether I feel like it or not.

That decision will give you the little extra push that’s needed when you’re tired, unmotivated, uninterested, and uninspired.

Because we know some streaks are too important to compete with the naturally wide spectrum of our emotions.