Don’t let the availability of answers keep you from pondering.

We’re all capable of being 30-second researchers.

But we’re wired to be deep thinkers — to wonder, marvel, and contemplate.

Sit with life’s unanswerable questions.
Visit with them.
Learn to love them.
Learn to live them.

Many of the answers you seek can’t be found in a search result; they live in the quiet spaces of your heart.

Oprah Winfrey’s retelling of Maya Angelou’s advice is perhaps the most resonant version:

“You did what you knew how to do, and when you knew better, you did better.”

In any given moment, we’re doing the best we can with what we have — not necessarily our best ever, but our best right then.

And while the older, wiser version of you can see the missteps and missed signals, that same wiser self can also extend grace to who you once were.

Every so often, a memory transports us. We follow the thread back — revisiting who we once were and what we once loved.

And occasionally we discover that we’re entirely different people … and, at the same time, we’re not all that different at all.

Talent may determine where we begin,
but our commitment to the work shapes where we go.

Our starting point is mostly a lottery.
What happens next depends on how we steward the payout.

All the luck in the world won’t help if we choose to limit ourselves.

Onward.

I have a blue, three-foot spirit level that I used to keep on a shelf with some scrap lumber.

One day, I decided that wasn’t the right place for it, so I put it away with some other tools.

Despite my effort, whenever I needed that level, the first place I looked was still the lumber shelf.

Eventually, I changed course: I put the level back where it had always been.

* * *

We can change many of our habits.

But sometimes, the smoother path is adapting to the grooves we already follow.

My friend Sue Heatherington wrote a poem that deeply resonates with my recent thinking. I’m delighted to share it here. Sue’s writing generously shares wisdom, imagery, and hope from a “little valley in South West Wales.” I’m grateful for her work.

* * *

BEING OPEN

Where I stand
shapes what I see.

Lend me your eyes.

What I listen to
shapes what I hear.

Lend me your ears.

What I notice
shapes my attention.

Lend me your perspective.

And what I value
shapes my heart.

Let’s grow together.

+ Sue Heatherington

The movie playing in our heads isn’t the one everyone else is watching.

It helps when we share some of our narration —
and when we listen for the narration of others.

Sometimes a dish is extraordinary — not because of its sameness, but because of its contrast. Creamy and crunchy. Salty and sweet. Warm and cool. The little bursts of concentrated flavor. The edges that crisped just right.

Not every bite is better than the last. It’s the standouts — the surprising ones — that make the whole dish memorable.

Life is a lot like this. By definition, not everything can be extraordinary.

But — just as we dwell with the best bites — we can savor the sweetest moments.

“Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people.” So said Eleanor Roosevelt.

But I imagine — with her quick wit — even The First Lady of the World might have conceded that some of the best stories involve quirky neighbors, childhood mishaps, and the funny moments people create.

Ideas, events, people — they all belong.

We forget to rename ourselves. Outside of formal programs and job titles, there aren’t many mile markers.

It’s easy to know when you’re a beginner. But when have you practiced enough to call yourself a poet? A painter? A magician? A practitioner?

The truth is, we often step into these identities long before the titles feel right — because that’s how we grow into them.

But eventually, there comes a moment when we can let language clothe us in what we’ve quietly become.

Don’t become dysfunctional because of someone else’s dysfunction.

Struggle can be gravitational. Even when we’re careful, we can get pulled into someone else’s problem. At best, it takes our attention. At worst, it hijacks our emotions — and our behavior.

Like watching a storm on the horizon, we need to make sure we’re sheltered and anchored.

Listen to how they say it.

If it’s their name or their company … they’re right.

Even if you don’t agree.

Even if it breaks convention.

When it comes to how people pronounce what is theirs, it’s best to suspend our own judgment.

We don’t learn to sculpt; we learn to think three-dimensionally.
We don’t learn to paint; we learn to think with color and tone.
We don’t learn to write; we learn to think with words.

Often, what we learn to do shapes how we learn to think.

Overprovisioning is a practice in computer storage design: beyond the space you can use, there’s a little extra. That extra — the overprovisioning — creates flexibility, improves performance, and makes repairs possible.

At first glance, it can feel like sleight of hand. If the device has 214 units, why does the label say 200?

But it isn’t deception. It’s design, pragmatism — even a bit of generosity.

The hidden extra is what allows the visible portion to thrive.

We’re no different; the margin we preserve is often what keeps everything running.

In a 1963 essay, civil rights activist Fannie Lou Hamer wrote these powerful words:

“Sometimes it seem like to tell the truth today is to run the risk of being killed. But if I fall, I’ll fall five feet four inches forward in the fight for freedom. I’m not backing off.”

Today’s fight for freedom has different contours. But may we all carry that five-foot-four-inch resolve.

Not every half-baked idea deserves tossing.

Some of them just need more time in the oven.

Sometimes, even a good carpet can’t fix an uneven floor.
Sometimes, even good software can’t mask failing hardware.
Sometimes, even good acting can’t rescue weak writing.

Layers tend to work in one direction. And we can easily burn a lot of energy trying to fix the part that isn’t broken.

Nearly two years ago, I hung a painting on my office wall — a print I bought from SFMOMA. Seeking a slight shift in energy, I moved the painting to an adjacent wall.

The next day, two colleagues commented on it. “Is it new?”

Discovery and appreciation are often just a slight turn in a new direction.

I watched two friends making their way across a grassy park. The one with a cane said, “I just can’t hurry.”

She moved carefully, deliberately — and cheerfully. She knew her limits and was content to keep her own pace.

There’s the pace of the world, and there’s our own pace. They meet now and then, but most days, we’re better off knowing which one is ours.

Walking through a market, I caught a glimpse of a former colleague I hadn’t seen in years. I doubled back to say hello.

She said, “I just told my friend, ‘I don’t think he recognizes me.’”

The truth is, I recognized her instantly. But I almost didn’t see her.

* * *

We cannot recognize what we do not see. And even with eyes open, there are entire worlds that we will still miss.