I’m one to keep streaks alive. Not perfectly, but I’m consistent in some areas.

But sometimes, a break is needed. Whether from fatigue, illness, other priorities, or strange logistics … every so often, there’s a necessary pause. Not from forgetfulness. Not from laziness. Rather, a conscious choice.

In these moments, I like to take on an infallible, supreme air with my internal voice. I say to myself, “It is permitted.” Or, “It is acceptable.”

It’s mostly tongue in cheek. But it’s also a genuine self-reminder: I’m in charge of any streaks I keep or break. I’m accountable to myself. I get to choose what to continue, when to pause, when to resume, and what to eliminate. Daily. Even moment to moment.

We all get to choose.

Some recent sleet and freezing rain made a beautiful midnight sound. Lots of tiny pops and clicks as the frozen precipitation landed on roof, street, and garden.

Curiously, the sound was not unlike the crackle of a bonfire. In some ways, it sounded quite the same.

The temperatures opposite ends, yet the phenomena sharing an auditory profile.

Worlds apart, we can find compelling connections when we’re sensitive to their traces.

Finding “just right” is often the challenging part of what we do.

Not too tight, not too loose.
Not too technical, not too general.
Not too formal, not too casual.
Not too bold, not too passive.
Not too brief, not too extensive.

Much of our practice lives on a spectrum. Whether it’s handwriting, or drawing, or cooking, or acting, or dancing — anything that involves our dexterity will also call for our judgement.

And we don’t always find “just right” the first time. Often, we need to test the edges; to move too far one way, then too far the other … until we discern or intuit where the work wants to be.

In golf, there’s a concept: “Don’t follow a bad shot with a stupid shot.”

Meaning, there will be times when you execute poorly. Times when you get an unlucky break. Times when, despite your best efforts, you have a poor outcome.

Don’t take that moment to be hasty. Don’t be rushed and foolish. Don’t chase your losses or attempt a low-probability miracle save.

Instead, stick to your strategy. Reset. Choose wisely. Act wisely.

In life, we’re going to face these kinds of situations. Suboptimal happens. Let’s not take those moments to make things even worse.

The person who woke before the sun rose, drove through inclement weather, unlocked the building, and greeted clients with a smile — this person isn’t being paid extra. She’s not suffering silently. She’s not even acting.

She made a decision long ago (or maybe every day) about what’s worth her energy and attention. About whether whining helps. About whether she deserves special attention for working hard.

Her job is not easy, but her burden is light. Because she doesn’t seek sympathy. She doesn’t fish for accolades. She doesn’t want pity.

She just steps through the muck and does her job with intention and an undeniable, inalienable joy.

And we can do the same.

In replying to a young student’s request for advice on writing, C.S. Lewis began his multi-point list with this: Turn off the Radio.

The advice extends to us, too.

But what is our writing? And what is our radio?

Whatever the answer, the work calls for its own sense of quiet. And yet we live in a world filled with noise.

So turning off the radio is no small task. But we must. We must for the sake of the work that seeks to come through us.

There’s something beautiful about averages. Yes, they can be misleading (data can tell many different stories). But often, they contain a good bit of truth.

Want to know how far you can throw a ball? Throw ten, measure each, take the average.

How much do you weigh? Weigh yourself at 6:00 AM three times a week for a month or two. Take the average.

How often do you drink alcohol? How frequently do you exercise? What’s a typical night in tips? What’s the usual cost of lunch?

With any of these, we don’t need to toss out a guess. We just need to watch for a little while.

Sometimes the averages can teach us about ourselves. What we thought was x is actually x + 10. What we would have guessed is y is actually 50 percent of y.

We might even find ourselves arguing with the data. But that, too, is a good lesson.

It takes many repetitions to form a habit, but only a few to earn a reputation.

Training ourselves takes time — especially if what we’re doing requires effort or discomfort.

Showing up on time, eating healthy foods, eschewing local gossip … these things call for intention and commitment. And it can take a while to lock in.

It only takes a few instances, however, for others to tag us with such attributes. (If we’re seen jogging just one time, someone’s likely to call us a runner.)

But it works the other way, too. Checking a text while on the road? We’re a dangerous driver. “Late twice” might as well be “always late.” Forgetting a task a few times, and “unreliable” or “absentminded” are likely monikers.

Whether we’ve developed a reputation or not — laudable or wanting — we can begin to string together positive behaviors any time we choose. The feet our ours to point in a direction, and we’re always the one to take the next step.

“Don’t tell me how much you love the sport. Just tell me your basic stats and include anything that will jump off the page.”

This was advice from a college athletics coach talking to a cohort of potential recruits.

Like so many situations, proclaiming our love for a thing only goes so far. What really matters is what we do as a result of that love. What people really care to know is the story of that love, played out in actions, and the impact it has made.

I watched a video that showed two novice climbers learning techniques, then climbing a large, igneous rock landform.

YouTube has a feature that overlays a graph along the video timeline. It shows which parts of the video are viewed the most, and which are viewed the least. The peak of this graph represents the “most replayed” section.

What this particular graph revealed is that many people didn’t watch the instructional portion. They didn’t focus on the techniques or even on the climb itself. The most replayed section? The summit.

People watched as the climbers reached the top and the resultant views and celebration.

Meaning: they skipped over the work. They scrubbed past the learning and the struggle and went straight for the achievement.

It’s a reminder of the impatience we can sometimes have. That we elevate the outcomes and overlook the process. That we focus on the highlights and dismiss the journey.

But let’s not forget: in our own endeavors, the struggle is part of what makes the view so majestic.

Our projects, efforts, and interests can have a momentous start, a full story, and a tidy end.

Or not.

They might begin without our notice. They might be filled with nuance and complexity. They might end abruptly.

Not unlike life itself.

“Uncertain,” “open-ended,” and “gone too soon,” can be challenging for our emotions, but they come as no surprise to nature.

Soon enough, we learn that the universe does not speak in complete sentences.

Not every creative act is equal.

There are many times where we employ our creativity in a practical sense. We use our skills to solve a problem or to serve someone else’s needs. This is a kind of utilitarian creativity.

There are other times when we use our creativity in a generative sense. Our judgement and skills meet our sense of curiosity and wonder. There are fewer rules and broader horizons. This becomes a more expressive mode of creativity.

One mode is not better than the other; we need both. But each feeds us differently. Finding the proper balance is wise.

The playing technique is somewhat similar. But the sound that’s produced by a trumpet is quite different from a tuba, a flugelhorn, or a euphonium.

The conduits and vessels matter.

When we’re not getting the results we seek, it might not be the melody we’re playing — it might be the particular vessel we’ve chosen. And if that’s true, maybe it’s worth experimenting with other options. New settings, new channels, new pathways, new instruments.

Still your song, but freshly alive in a new context.

I felt my anxiety rise as I drove to the driver’s license renewal center.

Will this be a disaster? Am I sure I have the correct documents? Will someone shout at me for being in the wrong line or sitting in the wrong waiting area? Will I be there all afternoon?

Turns out, the employees were all quite friendly. I didn’t have to wait long and the conversations I had were pleasant.

So all that worrying — where I got to practice feeling uneasy and defensive — was for nothing. Instead of imagining the worst-case scenarios, I could have spent my time thinking about other things.

I’ll get a do-over in 2029 … the next time I have to renew. Hopefully I’ll remember: the worry wasn’t worth it.

The prodigies, the naturals, the geniuses — they’re always breaking new ground and reaching new heights. But it’s rare that one of these is also a good teacher.

The best teachers often aren’t naturals at their craft. The best teachers know what it’s like to not know. They know the struggle of learning when it doesn’t come easy. They know what it’s like to feel lost, to search, and to find a way.

It’s good to know someone who can show us a shortcut. But when we’re learning, sometimes it’s best to find someone who got there the long way.

Occasionally, I’ll read a book quickly — cover to cover in a few days. More often, I’ll read the first third or two thirds of a book over a few weeks, and then never finish it.

But sometimes, a book is juicy enough to savor. A few pages or chapters at a time. Over the course of a year or two. All the way to the end, then back to the beginning.

The most resonant words and ideas ought not to be rushed.

We’re hopeful. Positive. Optimistic.

But it’s not just rose-colored glasses and wishful thinking.

It’s hope paired with work. Positive mindset paired with strategy. Optimism paired with effort.

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s wisdom endures: “A goal without a plan is just a wish.”

And we’re not just wishing.

“I want my effort to produce your results.”

It seems silly to say it outright. But when we look around with any degree of “I wish I had what they have” — this is what we’re saying.

To say instead, “I want to mimic your efforts to see if I can attain your results,” is so sensible as to be boring. Indeed, it’s quite a reasonable approach.

True, people are born into different circumstances and luck has no sense of fairness or equality …

Nonetheless, we can’t weigh the outputs without consideration of the inputs. And so many of those inputs are what we can control.

Imagine being tethered to a 40-pound boulder. The weight is secured with a complicated knot — one that would take hours to untangle.

Luckily, you can still move. Dragging the boulder is laborious, but you can do it. Effortful, but possible.

This is a good thing, because you have things to do. You don’t have time to be delayed. You certainly don’t have hours to mess around with a troublesome knot.

And if you were on a timeline measured in hours, this might make sense.

But we’re often on a timeline measured in weeks, months, and seasons. All the while, dragging our boulders in service of the short game, the pending deadline, the urgency of now.

Those who have the patience to pause, however, are honoring the long view. Those who have the courage to hold space for unknotting — they purchase their freedom to run.

Me: “Talk to him. If you want help, he’s the first best … no, the best first … mmm.”
Colleague: “I know what you mean.”

What I meant to say to was, “He’s the best place to start.” Meaning, “If you want information, speak with this person first.”

The words weren’t coming out clearly and I could feel the confusion in my head. I knew what I was trying to communicate, but the wording seemed off.

Shortly afterwards, I realized that I had started the phrase oddly. There was nowhere to go after that. I couldn’t resolve the sentence because I was anchored in a false start.

Sometimes when we can’t quite figure out the next step, it’s because we’ve begun down the wrong path. A brief pause and a reset is the only way to clarity.