I’ve had a woodworking project that has been coming together in the workshop for over two years. It’s almost finished.

But these final stages — the complicated glue-ups, the priming and finishing — these are stages I almost want to avoid. I can feel the temptation to procrastinate.

Here’s the thing: these remaining tasks all involve risk. If I screw up, I could negate hours of progress. Maybe weeks. I could be faced with hours and hours of re-work.

And yet, the final steps must be taken. In order to finish the piece and ready it for installation, there is work to be done, risky or not.

* * *

It prompts me to think of other situations where we hesitate to take the next step because it involves risk. That the next step could ruin some of the good work we’ve already done. That the whole thing might not work.

There’s a romantic allure to work-in-progress. It has promise. It hasn’t faced possible failure because it’s not complete. It still might succeed.

Like an unfinished screenplay. An incomplete degree. A rough draft.

We tend to protect the work that we’ve already done, and we hide from the judgement that will come following completion.

But we can’t stay in that unfinished state. Not if we’re serious. Not if we’re professional. Those risky next steps... we’ve been building up to them all along.

We’ve just got to take them.

When we’re out walking, and we smell a faint, but persistent odor of dog scat, we’re likely to check the bottom of our own shoes. “Have I stepped in something? Is it me?”

But consider other situations. A negative work environment. A combative relationship. An ineffective team. A gathering that feels unwelcoming.

Are we brave enough to ask ourselves, “Am I contributing the problem? Is it me?”

Airport check-in clerk: Have a safe flight!

Passenger: You too!

* * *

Sometimes, we’re on autopilot with our responses. Like the receptionist at the coroner’s office who absentmindedly says, “Have a nice day,” while ending a painful telephone call.

Or a politician’s practiced motion to shake a hand before seeing that the veteran has no arms.

When these moments happen — and they inevitably happen — it’s an opportunity for us to recommit to being present, mindful, and intentional in our words and actions. That is… after we shake off the pang of embarrassment.

It’s easy to feel grateful for things that happened today. Or yesterday. Even months ago.

But as time goes by, the intensity of our gratitude for things of the past can soften.

The kindness we encountered a decade ago.

The hard work of those who raised us.

The many sacrifices of past generations.

We’d do well to remember these things, too, from time to time. To be grateful for them, and to honor the rich and nuanced history that affords us this very moment in time.

Adolphe Monet had hopes that his son, Oscar-Claude, would join in managing the family’s grocery business.

* * *

There can be a big difference between what’s best for you, and what someone else thinks is best for you.

Sure, there are times when we’re a bit blind — when we brush aside advice that probably shouldn’t be ignored.

But mostly — particularly when it comes to our own hopes, dreams, and ambitions — we know what’s best. We know what drives us. We know there’s a unique journey that we have to navigate. One where we own the choices.

Ultimately, we know what’s best for ourselves, even if others don’t yet see it.

When visual artists are examining a subject, or developing tone within an image, we sometimes squint. (Go ahead. You can look at something and try it right now.)

Squinting helps us to see — very generally — what’s in light, and what’s in shadow. The finer details in each area fade away as the lights and darks coalesce.

It’s an easy way for us to see the overall picture, in a tonal sense.

* * *

Useful as it is, this technique is a little trickier to use when examining other things, like our lives, our circumstances, and our situations. To allow the endless details to momentarily fade away as we assess the light and shadow... the positive and negative.

But it’s worth a try.

And… we might even find that there’s a lot more light than shadow.

Do you seek to do good work?

Or do you seek praise and acknowledgement for what you do?

You can hold both in your hands, but the second part is a much heavier load; carrying too much of it will eventually sink you.

Sometimes, busy people behind counters like to pretend that customers are invisible until they’re acknowledged. That the best policy is to ignore the patron until she can be served.

For customers, however, the better experience is hearing, “Hello! We’ll be with you in just a minute.”

A simple acknowledgement of someone’s existence.

The same thing goes for when a coworker darkens your office doorway.

You may indeed be in the middle of something important. Deep into your work. Great. That’s a good thing.

But there’s a human in front of you. A human who is much more likely to appreciate a simple “please hang on a second” than to be silently ignored.

It can be helpful to think about yourself through the lens of, “I am the type of person who _______.”

Serve yourself. Figure out how you want that statement to end, and repeat it to yourself as much as you need to.

Then, make sure your actions agree with what you tell yourself.

The end of a year can be a time of reflection. A time of looking back to review our footsteps. To see where we’ve traveled. To see where we’ve stumbled. To see where we’ve taken brave leaps.

But it’s also a good time to ask ourselves, “What now? Where do we go from here?”

This fresh start... this arbitrary fresh start... the fresh start that we could have chosen yesterday, or the day before...

What does it mean this time?

Let’s not focus on the start of a year as though it’s magical.

Let’s focus on “now”. That precious opportunity of the present. To be our best selves. To shake off the fetters of our past. To make change happen. Not “this year,” but now. Always now… because that’s all we’ve got for sure: now.

While some people appear naturally content while disengaged, more often, a resting face seems stern. Austere.

The delight — the slackening of tension — comes when a friend walks into view.

The recognition creates an immediate, natural smile. A breath released. A sweet, softening of a once somber face.

Sometimes, the mere proximity of a friend can breathe new life into a dull moment.

When you only have a few dollars, you’re very careful about how you spend them.

Likewise, if you knew you only had a few days left in this life, you’d be very careful about how you spent them.

But even if we have many dollars, we can still spend each of them carefully.

And even if we think we have many days, we can still spend each of those days carefully, too.

Thing is, you can always make more dollars when you run low. You can’t do that with your remaining days.

The artist Abby Sangiamo once explained during a portrait drawing class: “Don’t be upset if — at first — you can’t get a good likeness (that is, the drawing doesn’t look very much like the person). Wait until you’ve drawn a hundred portraits. Maybe two hundred. If you can’t achieve a reasonable likeness after you’ve drawn two hundred portraits... then, come talk to me.”

The point is, sometimes we try something new once or twice and then we make a determination about our proficiency.

But most of the time, “once or twice” is way too soon to make that call. We’d serve ourselves better to do it a dozen times, or two dozen times, or two hundred times.

A dance. A magic trick. A soufflé. A business plan. Writing. Painting. Designing. Speaking. Singing.

Don’t expect perfect results at first. Expect to get better with dedicated practice and repetition; that’s how it works.

A week later, and I can still recall the friendly phone conversation I had with a restaurant manager.

I had called to order a gift certificate.

His cheery attitude. His projection of gratitude. His polish. His assurance, “Oh, they’re going to love this restaurant.”

The phone call was memorable, and it didn’t have to be.

One three-minute interaction. One experience. My first and only experience with that business.

The manager had no direct benefit from the call. He could have been cool. Transactional. Automated.

But he wasn’t. He was warm. Helpful. And even if he wasn’t happy, he sounded like he was.

A great restaurant experience doesn’t start with the first bite of an appetizer. Sometimes, it starts with the person who answers the phone.

Have a question to ask.

Not a question to make yourself look smart. Not a question to stump the speaker. Not a question that’s similar to something that has already been asked.

Rather, a question that will help you on your journey. A question that will prompt meaningful discussion. A question that will solicit a generous reply.

Whether you’re one-on-one, at a keynote, or connected digitally, don’t waste an opportunity to ask great questions.

It’s possible to work passionately without making a difference. And it’s possible to pour physical and emotional labor into unproductive work.

Like pedaling a bicycle when the chain has fallen off, or pressing a vehicle’s accelerator with the gear stick in neutral… we can work to the point of exhaustion without making change happen.

But with the right engagement, that cog you work so hard to spin… by connecting it to the right systems, the right people, the right machinery… your efforts can become the source of great movement.

It just takes a single point of proper engagement.

We like to anticipate big things. Holidays. Graduations. Anniversaries. Astronomical events.

But we can anticipate small things, too. The little joys.

The first sip of coffee. Lunch with a friend. An afternoon stroll. Evening meditation. A refreshing shower.

Joyful anticipation: it can happen often, if we seek it and delight in it.

Temporary doesn't always feel temporary. Sometimes, temporary feels permanent.

Pain. Suffering. Sorrow. In those experiences, we might need to consciously remind ourselves: this is temporary. Be patient. It will pass.

But the good things can be temporary too. Joy. Contentment. Peace. They can slip away unexpectedly. When you are wise enough to recognize them, embrace them. Cherish them. Feel them. Those beautiful moments don’t last forever.

Seeds represent possibility. Potential growth.

And with proper storage, seeds can last many years. That sense of possibility can be carefully wrapped up and kept in safety.

To plant, however — to seek germination — risks death as much as it promises new life.

So we have a choice: protect the seeds, or grow them... risking failure.

* * *

Unlike seeds, our hopes, dreams, ambitions, and inspirations cannot be kept indefinitely at minus 18°C.

If we don’t act on them, they’ll slowly, quietly expire. They’re not safe on the shelf. If we believe in them — if we truly believe in them — we must take the risk. We have to try. To plant. To grow. Yes, to risk failure... but also to risk success beyond what we can imagine.

When you’re always concerned about the next thing on the schedule, or the thing that’s happening somewhere else, then you’re missing out on what’s here, right now.

The irony is that when you actually are somewhere else, or when you’ve arrived at that next thing on the schedule, you’re probably not paying attention there either — because, you know, there’s always that next thing on the schedule, or something happening somewhere else.