People who are good at hiding their lack of knowledge tend to use that skill indefinitely.

People who are comfortable revealing their ignorance — who are eager to learn and not afraid to show it — tend not to stay ignorant for long.

Don’t act like you know; reveal that you don’t.

It’s not always the case, but sometimes, someone younger, less experienced, and less knowledgeable than you has excellent advice worth taking.

Keep your ears open and your heart receptive.

Your coffee or tea might be a morning staple — something that kicks off your day and sustains you.

Perhaps you also enjoy a bit of eggs, or oatmeal, or fruit.

But mixed all together, drinks included, these things aren’t as appealing.

Some things are better separated out.

Work and play. Creativity and chores. Engagement and reflection. In some cases, disparate activities exist synchronously and in harmony. But not always.

Sometimes building out and protecting space for just one of these is what’s needed.

Focused and separate, all on its own … for the benefit of the whole.

Though they’re generous in showing up, good ideas will often not linger if they’re ignored. Like a party guest who moves on to find a more welcoming host, ideas can leave as abruptly and surprisingly as they arrive.

Be a good host. When good ideas cross the threshold, entertain them.

Some things — a high-end baseball glove for example — have a break-in period. Straight from the factory, they’re stiff and barely functional. But after time and a lot of use, they’re form-fit. Even better than an inferior product that’s comfortable from the start.

Other things don’t require breaking in. A kitchen sink is supposed to work as soon as it’s installed. Software should be functional right away.

The tricky thing, at times, is managing our patience when we’re not sure if we’re dealing with a break-in period, or if something’s just not a good fit. Think: relationships, job placements, neighborhoods, new hobbies.

The question becomes, “Do I need to be patient or is this situation hopelessly flawed?”

Because some perfect fits aren’t perfect from the start.

I watched a delightful video where a performer moved in such a way that her umbrella looked like it was enchanted, trying to escape her grasp.

Curious, I watched again in slow motion.

Part of the sleight of hand was this: wherever the performer looked, the viewer looked there too. And attention was always given to the hand that was still, not the hand that was in motion manipulating the umbrella. The performer was directing the viewer where to look by modeling it herself.

This all happened seamlessly, naturally, and unconsciously. It can happen this way in daily life, too.

We can easily become focused on where other people are looking. Perhaps it’s some kind of ancient wisdom. Attending to the same oncoming stampede or the same ripe figs — this seems like useful hard-wiring.

But these days, there are a lot more things to capture our attention than animals and fruits.

The caution is this: not all spotlight operators are the same. Not all of them have our best interest. Not everything in the limelight is worthy of our attention. And when we’re not careful, we forget our ability — even our responsibility — to direct our own gaze.

When we pick the fruit, we get an immediate sense of our work’s value. This is my labor and this is my harvest. It’s satisfying.

On the other hand, planting seeds offers no such quick reward. Instead, there’s often a chasm between the initial efforts and when we begin to see results.

The planting and tending is a slog. But we need to remember that without that long, steadfast work of growing, there’s no harvest to enjoy.

If you got what you wanted, now you have work to do.

And if you didn’t get what you wanted, now you have work to do.

Because either way, we’re always going to have work to do.

That work begins today.

People make a big deal out of little things all the time.

But sometimes, a little thing is indeed a big deal.

My daughter voted for the first time yesterday. She was excited and she was proud. At the polling place, the volunteers made a big deal of it, congratulating her on participating in democracy. It was smiles all around.

Sometimes milestones are more like mile-pebbles, but they’re just as worthy of celebration.

Almost always, the choices we have are imperfect. It’s rare that we have many terrible options and one that’s ideal.

Most often, the selection is flawed.

We choose based on strengths, however — since strengths and weaknesses are packaged together — we simultaneously choose shortcomings.

There’s always a menu. There are always choices.

Rarely are either perfect.

“Watch this!” can be the phrase that precedes some kind of physical feat. (Occasionally it becomes the last words before a spectacular fail.)

The phrase creates a useful posture. A moment of performance. A generous tension.

“Here. I’m about to do something. Witness it.”
“Watch: this is a skill I’ve developed.”
“Pay attention. This is for you.”

It’s the prompt. It’s our deep breath before acting in the world.

Whether we say the words or not, we need to regularly place ourselves in “watch this” situations to draw out the fullness of our creative nature.

I was aghast the first time I saw my sister-in-law brew coffee.

I’ve always appreciated the exactitude of measuring grounds and water.

When she made a pot, she filled the water reservoir, poured a pile of grounds into the filter, and eyeballed it saying, “Ehhhh, that should be good.” Seeing my expression she replied, “What? That’s how I always do it.”

And the thing is, it was a great pot of coffee.

It was an excellent lesson. For some things, there’s a wide margin of right ways to achieve great results.

H/T Meg

“Am I allowed to bunt after the fifth strike?”

“Can the second soccer ball be a different color?”

“Where can I stand once I’ve jumped the net to the other side of the tennis court?”

These questions don’t make any sense. And they’re hard to answer. Because once we suspend the rules, how can we then clarify them?

We can work around the rules. We can even change the rules. But once we throw them out completely, we need a new set of rules to understand the game we’re playing.

Does the kitchen staff operate differently when the health inspector is on site? Hopefully not. Hopefully the inspector observes the normal routine — not an unusual adherence to procedures not regularly followed.

But for sure, the staff does operate differently during an inspection. Because we’re different when we know we’re being observed. At a minimum, there’s an increase in pressure and tension. Maybe more conscientious work. In some cases, a bit of anxiety and panic.

Ultimately, observation is a good thing. When we know there’s something at stake, when the outcomes matter, we do our best to show up as our best selves.

Consider:

A group that shares a posture, but differs in their occupations.
Or a group that shares an interest, but differs in their expertise.
Or a group that shares in the same struggle, but differs in their education.
Or a group that shares one belief, but differs in many others.

We’re not drawn together by our sameness, but often by our connection to just one thing — despite our many differences.

A single point of connection can be as strong a bond as any.

Pistachios are sold two ways: in-shell and no-shell.

(Aside: shelled is one of those words that can mean ‘in a shell’ and also ‘having had its shell removed’)

The benefit of no-shell pistachios is that they’re easy to eat. You can eat handfuls of them, one fell swoop at a time.

In-shell pistachios, by contrast, take a little work. Each nut is prised from its protective covering, one by one. As a result, they take longer to consume and there’s a pile of shells that remain.

That pile becomes a visual record, which is helpful. Without those shells, who knows how many pistachios you just ate? (The answer is: a lot.)

Most of what we consume — especially with our eyes and ears — doesn’t have a shell. We don’t have a mound of wrappers for all the links we click, or a pile of refuse from places we’ve scrolled or articles we’ve read. There aren’t leftovers from the songs we’ve heard or the sunrises we’ve witnessed.

But what if there were?

What might those piles tell us?

It’s curious.

As I listened to a radio news broadcast, I noticed the sound of the host inhaling between sentences. Then, I began to listen for it. And I could hear it in the reporters and interviewees too.

Sometimes the inhale was sharp. Other times it was drawn out. Plenty of times it was imperceptible.

Our ear naturally filters these sounds. But surely, before we speak, the inhale occurs. Most of the time, it’s likely audible but ignored.

Soon enough, I realized that I was listening for the breath and missing the content of the newscast.

When we toggle between these modes, it can be fun. Focusing on the subject and filtering the background, then focusing on the background and filtering the subject.

Surely, there are infinite layers to explore. Most of it, most of the time, goes completely unnoticed.

A twentysomething excitedly remarked to her father, “Did you know that on Amazon, you can buy an antenna, plug it into your TV, and watch local stations for free?”

The father (in his sixties) already knew all about rabbit ears.

Technology is funny like this. For someone who wouldn’t know otherwise, old features might seem like new features.

Sometimes new technology layers in such a thick blanket that we forget what’s underneath … or we never even knew.

Singing in harmony is a simple and beautiful reminder: when we work with others, we can accomplish things we could never have done by ourselves.

Our civilization was build through collaboration. When we engage with it directly, it feeds the soul.

Exciting wins aren’t the product of exciting practices.

Our greatest accomplishments come from our ability to consistently engage with the day-to-day work. And the daily work is not always flashy. It can be tedious. Even boring at times. But it is the way.

Beneath every mountain peak, there’s a whole lot of mountain. Learn to love the trek.