If you’ve visited this blog at savenwood.com, you may have noticed the header image on the site: a swirling pattern of greens and browns. An aerial image. But of what?

This is the geographic origin of the blog you’re reading. More specifically, the location of its author.

From Google Earth, it’s an image of where I am on the east side of North America, from the perspective of about 100 miles above sea level.

* * *

Sometimes to locate ourselves, we need to zoom out. Way out. And we can simultaneously note our very small place, as well as the remarkable reach of our connections across the planet.

Here’s to living on the ground and seeing from the clouds.

Every so often, you may feel an unexpected boost of optimism. An unwarranted, unexplained sense of possibility.

In these moments, the rational brain may caution pause. There are reasons to be pessimistic. Exercise restraint.

But we can mute the rational brain — temporarily.

Lean into possibility when the feeling arises; it’s a gift. Don’t grip it tightly, but hold its hand. Even if only for a little while.

Colleague: “We don’t have a good system to do this.”
Me: “OK. Then let’s use a bad system.”

* * *

Because we don’t always have the right tools. Or rather, we don’t always have optimal tools.

And when a task is necessary, sometimes we need to go with good-enough tools.

It’s easy to convince ourselves that sub-optimal is untenable. But often, what’s untenable is inaction for want of what’s optimal.

An engineer was explaining his project to some colleagues. In showing an incomplete feature, he prefaced it with, “Try to imagine with me …”

What a beautiful prompt. What an excellent invitation to a specific posture. A memorable line worth using more often.

When you’re compelled to run from home — away from what’s precious to you — there comes a time when you’re furthest away, spirit waning. And all it takes is turning back toward center for new energy to take hold.

When home is the destination, our resolve is bright.

This seems like a metaphor — and indeed it is — but it’s also something I often experience when I go for a run. There’s something about knowing you’re on your way back home that keeps the legs moving.

In the 2024 Winter Youth Olympics, Yang Jingru of Team China chose an unusual strategy in the women's short track speed skating 1500m final.

While many racers pace themselves so they can sprint at the end, Yang Jingru chose a different method. Soon after the race got underway, halfway through the first lap, she darted out to the lead in a full sprint. She kept going until she nearly lapped the rest of the racers.

By the time the main group had finished their third lap, Yang Jingru was coasting comfortably at the back of the pack … but finishing her own fourth lap.

Unsurprisingly, she went on to win the gold medal.

* * *

Keep your focus. Race at your own pace. But remember: sometimes the person behind you has already finished the race you’re trying to win.

You can see the race here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qgl1GITk0Js

You may be the undeserving recipient of someone else’s disappointment. And it might be totally unrelated to you … except that you’re the recipient.

Likewise, you may be the undeserving recipient of someone else’s joy.

This is the way things work; lots of feelings are misplaced in the world.

When you can, be someone who spreads joy more than disappointment. It’s a virtuous cycle worthy of your contribution.

Sometimes, practice makes perfect. But more predictably, practice makes permanent.

Which brings more attention to the question: what are you practicing? And how are you practicing it?

Because over time, the way you’ve been practicing becomes harder and harder to change.

In sports, the sweet spot of a bat, racket, or clubface is the small area that yields the best results. When you hit a ball with the sweet spot, there’s little vibration and maximum trajectory.

And notably, it’s a spot. Not a zone. Not an area. But a small spot.

Too far one way or another, and the results are suboptimal.

In life, we’re often seeking the sweet spot. In the various things we balance, in the connections we seek, in the ways we engage. And that careful calibration can feel burdensome.

But the thing about the sweet spot — when we find it — is that it feels effortless. Once we’re able to locate the sweet spot, our inputs feel easy and the outputs are remarkable.

Keep at it. Keep searching. Find it.

No amount of planning, preparation, modeling, or anticipation is sufficient to predict the future in full resolution.

To know with certainty what will work and what will not, what you’ll like and what you won’t — there’s no getting around it: you have to build it, ship it, workshop it, launch it, do it.

And as soon as you do, you’ll learn. You’ll adjust for the next time. You’ll notice what you hadn’t previously considered.

But all this doesn’t happen with better planning. And it doesn’t happen in your head. It happens after you conclude the prep-work and you engage with the work-work.

Occasionally, the ideas don’t seem to come — as though the well has run dry.

This can feel like a failure of creativity.

It’s not.

It’s a lack of patience. An inattentive sight. A muted listening. A false story you’ve told yourself.

The spirit is still there. The seeds are still germinating.

It’s just that the energy is focused on non-ideas and what doesn’t work. As though we’re at the riverside — thirsty — holding a net instead of a bucket.

In these moments, have patience. Like so many things in nature … creativity, inspiration, and motivation have their ebbs and flows.

Saying, “You’re wrong,” is a good way to get someone’s hackles raised.

A few alternatives:

“Help me to understand what you mean by that.”
“That hasn’t been my experience.”
Or simply, “Tell me more.”

It’s not that others can’t be wrong; they can be. But we move forward through invitation and conversation, not by calling fouls and silencing voices.

In a recent round of golf with my son, we both shot a five (bogey) on a particular hole. For him, it was a good feeling. For me, a bad one.

My son got out of trouble brilliantly. He handled a few errant shots and found the bottom of the cup in five strokes instead of what could have been six or seven.

On the other hand, I had a good opportunity at making three. Two poor putts, however, left me with a five.

If the golf jargon has lost you, here’s the simple explanation. We both ended up with the same less-than-perfect score. For one of us, it felt like a win. For the other, a loss.

This happens in life, too. Two people can be in similar situations, yet their feelings about it can be completely different. One person squanders a good opportunity and feels like a failure. The other overcomes setbacks and feels like a victor.

Much of what we experience — if not all of it — is the story of where we’ve come from, where we find ourselves, and where we think we’re headed.

When we begin a thing, we never know how long it will last. Or if it will catch on. Or if it will become tradition.

Mostly, these things emerge over time.  We begin, we experiment, we repeat, we continue. And at some point, we look back and say, “We’ve been doing this for so long. When did we even begin?”

(It’s why “first annual” events are strangely named; they promise a tradition that has yet to take hold.)

Be open to a gradual layering of history and tradition. But also, have the serenity to accept when things run their natural course and fade away.

If we’re not careful, our frustration about a small problem can become the origin of larger problems.

Said another way: our reaction to a problem can become a problem of its own.

Keep perspective.

I spent five minutes looking for an adapter to connect a cable to a port. Then I looked at the cable again. The problem wasn’t that I needed an adapter; the problem was that an adapter had already been attached to the cable.

I didn’t need to find an adapter — I needed to remove one.

Just another lesson: sometimes the solution isn’t from addition, it’s from subtraction.

There will be times when you put a lot of thought and care into a project. When you consider every detail. When you adopt the role of an expert curator.

And most of it will go unappreciated. Or unnoticed. Or seemingly ignored.

Don’t lose heart.

And don’t change your ways.

Do the thoughtful work. Even if it’s only fully appreciated by one person. Even if that one person is you.

And don’t take it personally either. Beauty and craft surround us — we often don’t see it ourselves.

So do the work for the sake of the work, not the recognition.

The world needs your contribution.

There are people who will tell you you cannot do it.
There are others who will tell you you can.

There are people who will marginalize your work.
There are others who will elevate and support the work you do.

There are people who will tell you all the things you’re doing wrong.
There are others who will tell you all the things you’re doing right.

Our radio dials are not perfect; we can’t completely tune out the naysayers.

But we can choose who gets our attention. And we can decide who to believe.

Spend some time in a locally-owned shop, and you’ll notice things.

A block propping open a door.
Wire carefully wrapped to hang a picture.
A zip tie used to tidy some cables.
A hand-written sign.

Because even carefully-designed spaces don’t account for everything, and we improvise. We find ways. We solve problems with the tools we have and the ideas we come up with.

Two takeaways. One, notice the home-grown solutions (they can be clever or sometimes amusingly and boldly inexpert). Two, be a problem-solver in your own space. Our surroundings — just like us — are works-in-progress.

Not too long ago, I slept in on a Sunday.

At the breakfast table, I happily reported, “Hey! I reached my sleep goal.”

My youngest son replied, “I didn’t reach mine — because I don’t have one.” He smiled wryly. (This is on-brand for his style of humor.)

But it reminded me of the power of goal-setting. When we set goals — even if they’re not particularly lofty — they become opportunities for us to celebrate what we’ve done.

Without goals, we’re just doing things. When we set goals, we turn activity into personal achievement.