Some art students develop skills quickly. They become proficient in their craft. Expert in a variety of media.

The young artist who can create a photo-realistic drawing… The young pianist who can perform a flawless Haydn sonata…

But there is another kind of young artist, too. The artist who has a certain perspective. A vision. A voice. A message that she needs to communicate.

She might not begin with expert skills — those will come with time — but she begins with a need to express something. She has depth. She has grit. Most importantly, she has purpose. Content will pour out from her.

For the other young artist — the one for whom skill comes naturally — her challenge is slightly different. Her challenge is to say something of relevance. To use the skills she’s cultivated to express something that matters. And that can be a paralyzing struggle. “Now that I have the tools of expression, what is it that I want to say?”

Well, as Jodi Picoult says, “You can’t edit a blank page.”

So, the fix? Begin. Put something out there. And then do it again. And again. You’ll eventually find your way.

What’s your balance of input and output? How much do you consume compared to what you produce?

[listening, reading, watching] versus [speaking, writing, producing, performing, creating, teaching]

Our culture will gladly welcome you into the audience. So much so, that you could take your seat and stay there forever.

But our spirit calls for more. Inside, we have a desire to experience, and then to respond.

To be producers. To be artists. To be makers. To put our own work into the world.

If you’ve been focused your inputs for too long, find your output control and open up the valve. You’re ready, and so is the world.

There’s something painters call the magic hour. It’s the time of day when the sun is low, and it rakes across the landscape. The shadows are long, and everything seems to have an enchanting glow.

Visually, it’s stunning. But it can be tactile, too.

If you take a walk during this time of day, you’ll feel the cool of the shadows, then the warmth of the sun, then the cool of the shadows once again.

It’s like walking through miniature atmospheric pools. Your skin becomes sensitive to each spatial transition.

A mindful ramble through nature could easily turn into an indulgent feast for the senses.

Of the people who know you — the people who know you well — is there a common adjective that they might use to describe you? Are there a few words upon which the majority would agree?

Are they right? Is the description accurate? And whether they’re right or wrong, do you want that adjective to be a different one?

Words won’t change it. Saying, “That's not me. THIS is me,” doesn’t work.

You have to show them through your actions. Consistently. Over time.

If, however, the adjective is spot-on and it’s how you’d like to be known in the world, then good for you. You’re doing it right. Keep going.

If not, then change. It’s up to you!

Consider a bicycle traveling at 15 miles per hour. Based on the cyclist’s effort, is that her intended speed?

More specifically, is something hindering her? Is the bicycle working properly? Do the wheels spin freely?

Would she be — with the same effort — traveling 20 miles per hour… except for some debris that’s binding one of the wheels, or a misaligned brake pad?

It’s a good idea to pause your ride from time to time. Assess the mechanics. Determine whether you’re working efficiently. Are there obstacles, or hindrances that slow your progress? Is a colleague creating drag? Is a family member pressing on your brake while you’re trying to accelerate?

Instead of pedaling harder — to the point of exhaustion — get the drivetrains in your life working properly. Correct the mechanics. Solve the problems that are locking up your wheels.

Then go, and pedal hard.

There’s a sequence of events that occur when you turn off a computer. During a “proper” shut down, programs are closed, data are saved, and background applications are paused or stopped. When you go to a menu and select “shut down” the processes that are put into motion are designed to protect your data, and to protect the operating system.

Yanking a power cord or forcing a shut down risks corrupting files and programs. It’s not good for the health of a system.

* * *

We have periods of shutting down, too. We take time to rest, to sleep, to recharge.

Do you have a “shut down sequence” for your body and mind, or is the end of your day the equivalent of pulling the power cord?

Consider the potential value of daily habits and routines that signal your mind: it’s time to rest; it’s time to close internal programs and ongoing processes so that your body can shut down in a healthy way.

After all, you don’t want to wake up with physical and mental feelings of “you did not shut down properly.”

A pentimento is a minor change in a painting — an artist’s adjustment of the composition or gesture. Sometimes the change can be seen though barely visible clues, and sometimes the change is only discovered using infra-red light or X-rays.

The conceptual beauty of a pentimento is the idea of self-editing. Stepping back, evaluating what you’ve done, what you’ve made, what you’ve planned, what you’ve accomplished... and making a shift. A correction. A minor adjustment.

The change might be invisible to the casual observer. Or perhaps traces of the shift will be evident upon close inspection. Minor clues. Subtle scars.

No matter. The work of a master bears these corrections with skill and grace.

We live in a world of filters, makeup, and costume. Strategic angles and careful lighting.

When it’s overdone or clumsy, I like to joke, “Your profile picture has something in common with mine: neither one looks like you.”

Photo filters are quite common. It won't be long before we see optional audio-enhancing filters on phones. Why not make your voice sweeter, deeper, or more buttery-sounding in order to match your digitally smoothed skin and portrait-optimized lighting?

All fine. Filter as much as you’d like.

However, don't forget that there can be beauty in uniqueness. Allure in what’s slightly different.

Recall some of the iconic beauty marks throughout history. The radio voices with a signature vocal fry. Singers with a telltale inflection. Writers with a notable, unusual style.

Filters can be great. But be careful about filtering yourself into a beautiful, yet unremarkable average.

After a tense interaction, do you replay it in your mind? Do you “re-live” it, in a sense that your emotions return to the state that they were during the unpleasant experience?

Have the presence to stop yourself. Take a few deep breaths. Consider why the interaction troubled you so much. More importantly, consider this: does it help to obsess over the interaction? Does continuing to recall the details make things better?

Probably not. So if replaying it doesn’t help, what will?

In setting a buffet, it’s a good idea to take a walk-through as though you are a guest trying to compose a plate of food.

When you do this, you’ll quickly realize whether there’s a missing serving spoon, or an incomplete selection of utensils.

If you have to reach over a lit candle to pick up a dinner roll, you’ll notice right away.

If you need two hands use the salad tongs, but you have nowhere to temporarily set your plate, you’ll quickly see the problem.

If you’re going to entertain guests, become one while you prepare the space. Thoughtful planning on your part will make things seem effortless for everyone else.

For most outdoor sports, a little bit of rain doesn’t cause the game to be cancelled. If it continues... if it gets really wet... if it starts to pour... there might be a delay. Even a postponement.

But that initial bit of rain doesn’t cause an immediate cancellation.

When you’re serious about something — when you have discipline and a sense of purpose — you don’t look for the start of rain. You don’t seek out an excuse to delay or quit.

You don’t hope for the circumstances that cancel a project or an event.

No. You show up and you get to work.

* * *

When you’re tired. When no one helps. When the rain falls.

Don’t quit.

The good work that you’re meant to do: do it — even if you have to do it tired, alone, and in the rain.

And if you are waiting for excuses to cancel, it might be time to reevaluate whether it’s worth your time at all.

We can spend a lot of time thinking about who we are. Fill out any kind of application, and you’ll be tasked with telling the story of “you” through the lens of check boxes and form fields. Your history, your present... all tidy bits of data.

But what about your future?

Set aside the notion of “what you are” for a moment.

Consider instead: what are you becoming?

In the United States, it’s somewhat common to be asked, “What do you do?” or even “What do you do for a living?”

Some years back, I attended a lecture by poet Kim Stafford, who explained that in some Spanish-speaking countries, it’s more common to ask, “¿a qué te dedicas?”

The interpretation is perhaps the same. Google translates the meaning as, “What do you do?” but the nuance it misses is in dedicare: to dedicate.

“To what do you dedicate yourself?”

Here, the cashier might reply, “I paint.”

Here, the sanitation worker might reply, “I play the guitar.”

Here, the question is about what’s born of heart and passion… which is not always the same as the activity that pays the bills.

Nothing helps you to appreciate a task more than doing that task yourself for the first time. For example…

• cleaning a toilet

• doing the laundry

• arranging chairs in a conference hall

• checking math homework

• coaching sports

• driving a school bus

• drafting equitable policy

• serving peak hours while understaffed

• managing customer complaints

When you do the task — when you learn what it takes, and you experience the particular challenges first-hand — you gain a visceral appreciation for what you might have previously taken for granted. You’ll be grateful for jobs well-done, and perhaps a little less critical when things aren’t quite up to scratch.

There are times when things seem completely awry and you’ll wonder, “How did we get here?”

Relationships. Politics. Business. Career. Even hobby and sport.

But if you question the situation while still travelling at great speed, then it’s often merely rhetoric. Useless musing.

If you don’t make an effort to stop, to slow down, or to intentionally change direction, you’ll always be saying stuff like, “How did we get here?”

And eventually, no one will take you seriously when you ask the question.

Bucket lists are fairly common these days, and they’re great — a defined list of the things you’d like to experience and accomplish before you die.

But checking the boxes on that list might take weeks, months, or more often, years.

So, what about the things you’d like to experience and accomplish today? Not before you die, but before you go to sleep tonight? Before today dies?

Chip away at that remarkable bucket list. But be intentional about today, too. Set some meaningful goals for this day, and make it worthy of the extraordinary life you intend to lead.

The first time you say, “I’m sorry,” it can be powerful.

The second time you say, “I’m sorry,” — especially for having repeated the same offense — it forever re-contextualizes the first time you apologized.

And the third time reveals that you’re not really sorry at all; you just regret the disconnect between your actions and what’s expected of you.

The most beautiful moments in life are often the most evanescent.

• when the sunset rakes across the landscape and the world becomes a living painting

• the overwhelming feeling of gratitude during an intimate moment with someone we love

• a musical chord that resonates in just the right way

• the last, and best bite of a delicious meal, where all the flavors are balanced just so

• the feeling of an infant’s tiny, loving grasp

• a Proustian smell that awakens a joyful childhood memory

While these moments are fleeting, they can still be kept on the bedside table of our memory, within easy reach, for a quiet moment of pause where they can do their job of easing our worries and warming our heart.

If there’s a golf club you can never hit quite right... If there’s a hand plane that never produces the desired surface... If there’s a pen whose line is always inadequate... If there’s a pair of scissors that cuts terribly...

Take it out of the bag. Remove it from the toolbox.

* * *

And if there’s a kind of response that you have to certain situations... A way of dealing with an employee... A way of speaking to a child who isn’t listening... A way of processing a personal setback...

If there’s a “tool” that you apply to these situations — a tool that never quite works the way you’d like it to... A tool that never yields the result you’re seeking…

Take it out of the bag. Find a better tool. A better response. A better way.

Don’t stick with what doesn’t work.

As I arrived home with my eight-year-old son, a neighbor waived to us and said, “Hey! What’s up?” In the context of us being across the street from each other, and each of us heading toward our front doors, “Hey!” (with a wave) was quite an appropriate reply.

My son waved, but did not say anything. I tried to correct him: “Say ‘hello’ next time.”

“But Dad, ‘Hi,’ doesn’t answer his question. He asked, ‘What’s up?’ and I was thinking about it.”

For me, it’s a good lesson. Sure, there are plenty of times that we pass a friend or acquaintance and say, “What’s up?” or, “How are ya?” and what we really mean is, “Hello!”

But it’s not too far of a stretch for us to be at a dinner party or a one-on-one where we offer a “How are you?” without really meaning it.

To connect — to really connect — we might be careful about those chatty questions and replies.

There are times when a heartfelt, “How are you?” — said intentionally — can change the trajectory of someone’s day, or much more.