In a 2014 commencement speech, actor, artist, and comedian Jim Carrey said this:

“We are not the avatars we create. We are not the pictures on the film stock. We are the light that shines through. All else is just smoke and mirrors — distracting, but not truly compelling. I’ve often said that I wish people could realize all their dreams and wealth and fame … so that they could see that it’s not where you’re going to find your sense of completion.”

He’s elsewhere been quoted as saying more concisely, “I think everybody should get rich and famous and do everything they ever dreamed of so they can see that it’s not the answer.”

Indeed.

* * *

Wanting tells the lie that having will fill every void.

It does not.

Everyone has a combination of features and flaws, strengths and weaknesses.

Too often, we tend to point to the shortcomings. We talk about the failures.

Of all the things a person is doing well, the mistakes and deficiencies are what become topics of conversation.

Who does this help? What purpose does this serve?

What happens if instead, we speak of the strengths? What happens when we become good-finders?

In doing so, we might not have any time left to dwell on the imperfections.

And that might be just fine.

Warm-cool. Smooth-textured. Light-dark. Sweet-sour.

Alone, together. Empty, full. Busy, resting.

An even stasis can be comfortable, but all the excitement in life is because of the contrasts.

Most of what keeps us physically alive … we never see. The organs and systems beneath our skin — they’re all hidden from sight. They leave traces. There’s evidence. But for the most part, these life-sustaining systems remain hidden.

Our culture places high value on what we can see, what’s visible, what’s on the exterior.

But so much of what truly matters — literally and figuratively — happens beneath the surface.

For so many skills we develop, we start off poorly.

Early skills, for example: walking, talking, reading, writing — none of these begin with proficiency. Rather, they begin clumsily. It takes failure, repeated effort, and a lot of time for us to get better.

But for some reason, as adults, we tend to see inability as a static trait rather than a starting point. As though we’ve forgotten that learning skills takes time. As though we’ve forgotten that mistakes and missteps are part of any learning process.

When we lower our expectations and set our egos aside, the real learning can begin.

An infinitesimal change in bearing will appear to do nothing at present.

But in the long run, it will lead us to entirely new worlds.

Lines. Grids. Dots. Blank.

Journals and notebooks are of countless variety.

For consideration: how does the format of the page influence your thinking? Is it limiting? Is it freeing? Does it help organize? Does it invite experimentation? Is it receptive to your way of operating?

A different mode may be worth trying now and again.

And perhaps the way your life is designed — perhaps that has some lines, grids, or dots. Or maybe an absence of them.

Is the page helping? Is it hindering?

Is a new notebook in order?

Yesterday afternoon, there was a massive storm. As I listened to the rain, I decided to pay closer attention.

I opened the window blinds and turned off the lights.

The drama of the storm instantly amplified.

This wasn’t the same as walking onto a porch to feel the elements, but the effect was still powerful.

Sometimes, we’re surrounded by so much artifice — light, sound, and structure — that nature feels like just another layer.

When we take a moment to strip away the extra, we enjoy a front-row seat to the show already in progress.

It’s kind to help others; there’s no doubt.

But it’s also kind to allow others to help us.

Because helping is a gift of its own.

In giving we receive. In receiving … we also give.

At a certain stage of development, children are highly confident. They’re not self-conscious, they’re not nervous, they’re not worried about judgement. They just do as they please.

And this applies to creative projects, too. There’s no question of canon. There’s no concern over the market, taste, or critique.

There’s only the maker and what the maker seeks to create.

As adults, when we can selectively harness this posture, we restore the infinite nature of the creative process.

Find ways to recall your childhood confidence: create with that joyful freedom.

Sometimes we place so much emphasis on technique that we forget the task it serves.

So what happens when we instead become highly focused on the task? Many times, the proper technique develops on its own. A natural self-organization.

Focus on doing the thing and the how comes for free.

H/T Adam Young

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.