Your investment in a project won’t always be evident in its outcome.

But the process is simultaneously an investment in yourself. And while that, too, might not be immediately evident, its effects will be seen over time.

“I can’t do that now, but I’ll be able to do it when I’m older.”
“I can’t do that now, but I could do it when I was younger.”

We can’t be in two places at once.

It doesn’t make much sense to spend our days wistfully thinking about the chapters we’re not living in this moment.

When considering what you’re capable of doing, remember that there’s a wide aperture. Our work can be exemplary. Our work can be regrettable.

But don’t waste time exploring the low end. Not in practice, not in rumination, not in worry, not in prediction.

Set your sights on the high side. Your attention leads you in a particular direction. Bias yourself toward the good stuff.

You can’t pour from an empty vessel.

But you also can’t fill a vessel that’s not open to receiving.

Or a vessel that’s not even present.

* * *

Not unrelated: I had absentmindedly started the coffee pot this morning … with nothing under the spout. Sometimes the universe catches our attention in a simple routine to remind us of something that’s true.

You might not have a teacher assigning it … but there’s always homework.

Give it its due.

When we have a remarkable experience, it’s natural to think about the next time.

Because we want to feel it again. To taste it again. To live it all over, one more time.

We want a repeat.

But sometimes it’s best to let a thing be what it is. Singular. Incomparable.

Because there’s something beautiful about letting a good thing be the one and only.

Some pursue a quest to their peril. They’re consumed by it. Obsessed. Driven to the point of exhaustion.

And yet for others, it’s the quest that gives them life. It’s the quest that clarifies purpose and meaning. The quest that continually feeds the fire.

A well-lived life is sure to have a well-pursued quest or two.

Are you on a quest? If not, are you sure? Because sometimes we’ve been on one without even realizing it.

In the morning, it’s carpe diem. Even through midday.

But in the evening — especially if you haven’t “carped the diem” … it’s time to let go of that mantra.

When it’s late, we transition to finding peaceful rest. To loosening our grasp of the day’s potential.

Because we need to rest for carpe diem to be the mindset of tomorrow morning.

Café customer: “This weather. The humidity is ridiculous!”
Café owner: “True. But good for the cucumbers!”

Just like a rainy day for the grower (versus the golfer) — different folks hope for different things. What’s disappointing to one may be the ideal for another.

To do any important thing, we have to set aside and ignore other important things.

And there are always other important things.

When you’re a new member in a group or organization, it can feel uncomfortable — particularly if everyone else knows how the system works and they know what to do.

It’s not incompetence; it’s uncertainty. Not a lack of ability, but a question of what to do and when.

This can happen in a larger context, too. It’s easy to tell ourselves the story that everyone else knows what they’re doing. That everyone else knows the system and that we’re an outsider.

But again — real or imagined — this has less to do with ability and more to do with learning how a particular game is played.

When this kind of discomfort arises, remembering to trust yourself is a good first step.

Well-worn grooves are just that: well-worn. They’re comfortable and familiar.

So sometimes what we need is a bit of jostling. Electively or unexpectedly, an unsettling of the repetition.

Because we’re not machines. And anyway, we have machines to do machine work.

What we need is the right balance of pattern and surprise, of known and new.

And for that to happen, we have to find ways to exit the grooves.

“Are you ready to order?” The server stood next to our table attentively, hands behind his back.

He listened carefully as each of us let him know what we wanted to eat.

I marveled. My own short-term memory would be woefully inadequate for this sort of thing. Relaying to the kitchen a food order for a family of five — without taking notes? Not my skill-set.

But here he was, no pad, no pencil, no tablet.

And when our meal was served, only one of the meals was completely accurate.

Turns out, this server’s short-term memory wasn’t all that great either.

My son quietly noted, “Maybe he should have used a pencil and paper.”

Indeed.

Style over accuracy. It looked impressive — but that’s about all.

Sometimes we need to humbly choose practical methods; they might not garner oohs and ahs, but they’ll get the job done right.

Even the greatest professional athletes have errant shots.
And the best orators misspeak.
And the most skilled doctors err.

There is no “so good that that errors are impossible.”

So remind yourself.

When a recipe flops. Or a blog post doesn’t land. Or a photo shoot feel stale. Or a composition fizzles.

This is natural. And it happens to the best of the best.

Peak performance can never be a permanent state. But neither can falling short.

It’s all part of the practice.

We can bristle when we hear someone tell us what we should do.

(I’m an independent thinker. Don’t tell me what to do, thank you very much.)

But selective enrollment in the “shoulds” others suggest to us can be transformational.

And indeed — sometimes — when we choose to adopt the (even off-hand) suggestions of others, it’s to great and wonderful effect.

Take any two points in a creative life, and it’s anyone’s guess whether things move in the direction of better or worse. And the amplitude can be astonishing; high highs and low lows.

But over time, a creative practice is generous; it correlates in a positive direction.

* * *

Beware of giving too much attention to any one segment. Instead, step back and appreciate the long dance … and the beauty of its inflection points.

Bruce Lee famously said, “Be water, my friend.” Here’s a slightly longer version of what he said, because it’s worth pondering:

“Empty your mind. Be formless. Shapeless. Like water.

“Now, you put water into a cup — it becomes the cup. You put water into a bottle, it becomes the bottle. You put it in a teapot … it becomes the teapot.

“Now, water can flow, or it can crash.

“Be water, my friend.”

You have a routine: things you do most days, like clockwork.

And others have routines too.

Which means in some instances, you’re a part of someone else’s routine.

And they’d miss you if you were gone.

Whether it’s a face-to-face encounter, or through the work you put into the world — our routines can intersect with occasional regularity.

Appreciate the subtlety and beauty of the overlaps.

During a road trip, I noticed that we had 3 hours and 15 minutes until our next stop. In my head, I thought, “OK. We’ve got about three hours left.”

Half an hour later, my son saw that we had 2 hours and 45 minutes remaining. He groaned, “Ugh. We still have three hours left.”

It was a strange phenomenon for me. As though we had made zero progress for half an hour.

So use caution when rounding. Do it too often, and it might feel like you’re not getting anywhere.

In front of where we were sitting, there was a 30-gallon garbage bag full of trash. We were at a little league field, and the bag was left by a previous group. There it sat, leaning against the outfield fence.

Option one: be annoyed by the lack of courtesy. Lament the irresponsibility. Spend the game as spectators of sport, and spectators of trash.

Option two: carry the bag to a dumpster. Wash hands. Move on. Enjoy the view. Enjoy the game.

(I went with option two.)

Sometimes we have a choice: point to the problem and live with it; or solve the problem and live free of it.

The latter is often more satisfying.