I added a specific item to my daily task list, prefacing it with the words, in bold: FIRST THING. This was the thing to be done right away.

When I began my workday, I read the note, and promptly decided to do something else.

This was a clear reminder to me: adding an item to the list does not change how we feel about the task. When we’re avoiding a task because it’s boring, tedious, uninteresting, or challenging, it remains such no matter where it’s listed or how it’s highlighted.

Lists are a record. They can even be a plan at times. They do not represent motivation or commitment: that doesn’t come from the list; that comes from within.

Does your headspace pair with your spiritual space? Does your consumption pair with your ambition? Do your joys pair with your habits? Do your words pair with your dreams?

Part of the puzzle we craft is inviting things to fit together. When we struggle to find those meeting places, we struggle indeed. When we find our various pairs to be consonant, we’re naturally integrated.

My phone had an unexpected issue a few weeks ago. An app paused and the screen read: “Temperature: iPhone needs to cool down before you can use it.”

Indeed. I had been sitting in a sunny spot outside and my phone was hot to the touch.

I was mildly annoyed by the interruption, but the message immediately resonated.

We’re navigating a season of frustration, division, and in some cases, open warfare. Globally, but particularly individually, temperatures first need to cool for us to function usefully.

We don’t ever finish watering the plants.

So many facets of our lives call for regular upkeep, tending, and care.

Not projects to be completed, but practices to be maintained.

Keep watering.

Skill-development and learning should always be part of our routine.

But sometimes what’s needed at present isn’t what’s without; it’s what’s already within.

That is, the tools needed for today’s challenges can be tools we already possess. We just need to call them forward.

It’s self-organizing in service of how we need to engage at this moment.

Some skills and traits are set aside, and others are called into action. But what we need … we already have.

Yesterday-you made the commitments. Today-you is left with the follow-through.

This is how it always works. When we’re looking forward, we set lofty and benevolent goals. We picture tasks accomplished and projects complete. When we close our eyes and imagine the future, it’s not a version of ourselves that feels tired, or lacks motivation, or wants to put things off. Future us is always doing great things with sufficient energy.

So that’s how we plan.

But then tomorrow comes, and we’ve got to show up and be that person. Or give it our best shot.

And we do.

Something in us seems to know: we can do good things. We set lofty goals because we’re capable of lofty things.

A harmony can be the more challenging part to sing. By design, it’s not the well-known lead. It’s an intentionally supportive role.

There are times when the spotlight is wide — when equal attention is given to both parts (Indigo Girls and Simon & Garfunkel, at times). But more often, the harmony is secondary.

Yet the richness that harmony adds — it’s a beautiful tool of elevation.

For those who sing the harmony (cue the metaphor) it’s for the love of what’s created, not for the love of the spotlight.

The harmony doesn’t garner the same credit as the melody, but it was never about the credit anyway.

We have an aging vinyl fence in our back yard. Soccer balls or (in this case) an exceptionally strong wind can cause a picket to fall off from time to time. Years ago, when this first started happening, I’d use string or rope to reaffix the pickets until the weather was agreeable for using an adhesive.

At some point, I switched and began making the repairs with long exterior screws. The fix was clean, secure, and not too unsightly.

Needing to make a repair yesterday, I cut a few lengths of string and put on my coat. Then I remembered: I don’t use that method these days. I have another way. A better way.

This kind of thing happens from time to time. We slot into an old habit. We reach for older, inferior tools. We go back to an obsolete strategy — briefly forgetting lessons we’ve learned and new techniques we’ve acquired.

Thankfully, we can catch ourselves and make the necessary adjustments.

“I could never do that.”

When we hear this (or perhaps we’ve said it?) it’s often in response to a beautiful painting, or an exquisite performance, or a masterful bit of culinary finesse, or even a great physical feat.

“I could never do that” can be said casually when we’re impressed.

But what are we really saying? (Even if we just think it?)

I could never practice two hours a day for three months?
I could never train seriously with a mentor?
I could never enroll in an apprenticeship program?
I could never dedicate two years to learning a new skill?

No. When we hear “I could never do that” it’s most often a light-hearted self-rejection in contrast to someone else’s expertise.

But be careful with the I-could-nevers. Because others have. And maybe you could too. It just might take a lot of work to get there.

Certain types of healing require isolation and solitude.

Other types of healing call for community and togetherness.

“I need to be separate.”
“I need to be among others.”

Depending on where we begin, both can be paths toward health and wholeness.

Surely, cross a street with purpose. Move with intention and focus. Even use a crosswalk.

But don’t move through the world this way. At least, not all the time.

Be sure to find occasions to wander. To stroll and observe. To pause and gaze. To soak in. To be curious.

The world is more playground than waiting room. More gallery than corridor.

And the good, creative life includes far more meandering paths than straight-shot highways.

The problem with fuzzy goals is that our self-criticism is often, by contrast, crystal clear. And when we allow that critique — the general sense that we’re insufficient — it has a weight to it.

And it may be unfair.

I’m not bringing in enough business. Have you defined how much is enough?

I don’t have enough people in my network. How many do you really need?

We don’t have enough money. What does the budget require, exactly?

Our general self-assessment may be spot-on. But without clear goals, it’s difficult to take measured steps. And measured steps are are the way forward.

Every successful endeavor has a story.
But so does every failure.

Heroes have origin stories.
But villains have histories too.

There are always outliers. But most of the time, when we know an outcome and we reflect on the journey … all the parts seem to fit together.

The more we know of the story, the slower we are to judge, and the more we lean toward curiosity and empathy.

Sometimes we try a thing and we think it’s terrible. But it’s possible that the thing we tried — is just a bad version of that thing.

It’s worth trying the good kind. The high-quality. The best version of it. And who knows — we might even love it.

Sometimes we want to taste something delicious.

Other times we want the sensation of feeling full.

In the best of situations, we can achieve both at once.

But there are occasions when we confuse the two — expecting to be filled by something that was never meant to be filling, or expecting to be delighted by something that was never intended to be optimally flavorful.

The metaphor extends well beyond food.

The time you had scullery duty.
Or the time we lost electricity.
Or that time where the turkey was still frozen.
Or when we all met at that one place. Do you remember it?

Our most memorable holidays are unusual. Quite literally, not the usual.

And they’re unusually good, or unusually bad.

But memorable indeed.

Sometimes you get so wrapped up in a creative project that you forget to eat. And you skip an otherwise invariable routine. You might even notice some joint stiffness because you’ve been in a certain posture for who knows how long. You’re not sure what others have been doing while you’ve been working. Focus or flow … whatever you might call it, time has skipped ahead.

And the concessions and sacrifices you’ve made in the meantime — they’re worth it. You were being called, and you answered.

I was researching some recipe ingredients using the model, “best x for y”. In doing so, I found a few posts that used a slight modification of my search: “preferred x for y”.

Preferred. Yes, a much more sensible word.

“Best” denies the existence of variation in taste. It suggests that there’s one right answer. And so often, what’s right for one is not right for another.

“I prefer” sounds a little snooty, but it comes from a more open-minded framework. That is, I prefer this but you may prefer something else. It’s the best, but the best by my own judgment and taste.

When we embrace the idea of preferences, there’s room at the table for everyone.

I appreciate a journey. Streaks and patterns are satisfying endeavors. Some of them are even just for fun.

Last year, on a you-should-do-this-dad suggestion from my daughter, I started growing out my hair. I had never sported long hair, so this would be new territory. It turned out to be an entertaining, long-term project.

After about sixteen months — with a few minor trims along the way and having achieved my goal — I decided to have my hair cut shorter again.

I noticed two particular questions from friends, family, and colleagues. The first curious question surfaced a year ago: “What are you doing?” (That is, “How long are you going to let it grow?”)

The second curious question was prompted by my recent haircut: “What did you do?” (That is, “Why did you get it cut?”)

People like to know what’s happening. Generally, they expect things to stay just about the same. And when gradual change begins to happen, they take note. Hmm. What’s happening here? And when drastic change happens, they take note as well. OMG. What just happened?

There are so many areas where we cling to the status quo. But often, we delight in seeing change and trying to figure out what’s going on.

Details can seem tedious, but they’re what give structure to our dreams.

And without structure, our dreams have little chance of finding their way to reality.