Each of us is a conduit for creativity, and work intends to flow through us.

But if we don’t tend to that current... if we don’t nurture its outlet with respect... then an internal burden builds.

Like increasing, unreleased pressure in a pipe, a burst is inevitable… and that brings an unfortunate mess to what could have be a beautiful fountain.

The case of bottles without an opener.

The television without a remote.

The prepared contract without a pen.

The dessert without a spoon.

Seeing the big picture is important, but the details matter.

There’s always room for improvement. There’s always a shortcoming — even if only minor. There’s always a detail to critique.

But if you’re always bringing that critical element to the conversation, you might not make for great company.

When someone says something in another language or with a thick accent, and you nod your head as though you understand (perhaps to seem polite or to act as though you fit in quite seamlessly) you might walk away with a whole milk mocha, and not the double espresso you ordered.

Sometimes nodding and smiling works out OK. Sometimes it’s the dim-witted thing to do.

Airports are excellent laboratories to study status roles. Who’s first. Who’s last. Who’s new. Who’s well-traveled. Who has money. Who doesn’t.

But very little of what you observe can be certain.

The man sitting in first-class by way of a happenstance upgrade.

The multi-millionaire flying coach.

A woman using the phrase, “Do you know who I am?” at the customer service counter.

As I waited to board a recent flight, two scenes were memorable: the group of people impatiently waiting for business-class to board first, and a smartly dressed young lady at the very end of the economy line, rolling an iconic $1,000 piece of aluminum carry-on luggage.

It’s all fascinating to watch, and the stories we invent about the people we see make for great fictional musings.

When kids are learning to play basketball, there’s a tendency for them to crowd around the ball during play. One player holds the ball while nine other bodies are in close proximity.

At this age, if another player wants the ball, she gets as close as she can to the player who possesses it. The result is a clump of jerseys jammed on the court.

The thing to do — if you want a teammate to pass the ball to you — is to get open. To find a part of the court away from defenders, where the ball can be passed to you.

It’s somewhat counter-intuitive… to distance yourself from the object you want. But that’s the way it works: you’ve got to set yourself apart, and to present yourself as a safe option. A good pass.

I’m going somewhere with this, as you’ve probably guessed.

When we’re working with teammates, colleagues, and partners, there are times when we have to get open. When crowding close to the person on the critical path is not the best way to help the project. When instead, getting ourselves in order, away from distraction (and ready to accept a pass) is the most useful thing to do.

It’s very likely that when you put on a jacket, you do it the same way every time.

That is, you always begin with the same arm in the same sleeve.

Try it. Put on a coat, noting which arm you put in first. Then, take off your coat and try it the other way: put your other arm in first.

Strange, right?

There are some things we do so habitually — so unconsciously — that we’re unaware of the pattern. It’s just the way we do things.

It takes a specific instance of us doing something quite differently to recognize that indeed, there was a “normal” way.

(Credit to my friend, Jeff, whose shoulder injury led us to discuss this curious jacket-sleeve phenomenon.)

There’s a quiet, but steady narrator in the mind.

Whose voice is it? The voice of the problem, or the voice of the solution?

With a bit of practice, we can choose the one that speaks.

Sometimes, in the midst of a non-emergency, a group of people operate in emergency-mode.

The leader that merely says, “This is not an emergency,” misses the point.

The fact that your team is unnecessarily in emergency-mode is itself an emergency.

Solving that problem is a critical first step.

Others will tell you to rest.

Others will tell you to take time off.

Others will tell you it can wait.

Don’t listen.

If your heart tells you to persist, then keep going; your work is too important to delay.

Others don’t have to grapple with your passion.

Others don’t feel the urging of the creativity in your soul.

When others tell you to relax, they don’t understand that they’re telling the ocean to be a puddle.

Every so often, I play a little game. I look at an online satellite map (an aerial view without labels) and I see if — starting from a full view of the globe — I can zoom in to locate the roof of my own home.

At each zoom-level, I find landmarks to understand where I am.

• The shape of North America

• The mouth of the Chesapeake Bay

• The Susquehanna River and its headwaters

• The serpentine shape of Raystown Lake, and Sayers Reservoir to its northeast

After the waterways lead me, it’s on to the land formations, the rooftops of larger buildings, and then to the particular pattern of streets in my town. Finally, my home.

During this exercise, without fail, I’m compelled to consider my small place within the world. The disparity between our supernatural ability to connect through the Internet, and the tiny dot which represents our physical location on Earth.

And yet… despite our smallness, we have the power to affect great change.

In trying situations, what do you whisper to yourself?

Is it “Are you kidding me?” or “Just my luck…” or “Well that figures...”?

Or is it “I can do this,” and “I’ve got this,” and “I can solve this problem...”?

Why not choose a posture that gives us confidence and a sense of agency?

We can’t avoid every setback, but we can control our self-talk.

There are people who know very little about your group. Your tribe. Your category.

For them, you are the example. You are the representative. You are the ambassador.

Your words and actions are telling the story: “This is what we are like.”

You are the example, and people are learning from you.

Stop waiting to be asked. Stop looking for them to call you into service.

Raise your hand. Step forward. Speak up.

You have gifts and abilities. You can contribute. And for whatever reason, you haven’t been asked to help.

OK. Maybe they don’t know what you can do. Or how well you can do it.

But you know what you can do. You know what you bring to the table.

So get in there.

Show up, and be amazing.

You might not be on their radar yet, but you will be, and they’ll be grateful for your help.

It takes a lot of confidence to reveal our methods. Our strategies. Our productivity hacks. Our suppliers.

Part of this comes from the fear that if others knew what we know, they’d be able to do what we do, and then we’d become less relevant. Less special.

But today’s world is a world of connection. Of information. It’s all out there.

If you want to know how to do something, odds are, there’s a YouTube that will teach you.

We don’t become more valuable by hoarding secrets. Our status increases through generosity. Through sharing. Through educating.

It’s the small-minded and selfish who cling to their secret techniques.

The best of us share confidently, because it turns the ratchet for everyone.

Ten minutes. Go look for beauty. Walk somewhere you haven’t walked.

Leave your home. Leave your office. Leave the Internet.

Allow yourself to soak it in. Notice things. Observe. Breathe deeply.

That peace... that calm... that’s opportunity you sense. That’s empowerment you feel. That’s you, poised to do great things.

Go do those great things, but start with ten minutes.

“I want to get better.”

We hear this phrase often. Maybe we think it, too. Maybe we say it.

But what do we mean, specifically?

When we float the idea of wanting to get better, it has no efficacy on its own.

We need to be specific. We need a plan if we’re truly invested in leveling up in a certain area.

“I want to improve in _______, so I’m going to start by a, b, c...”

Without committing to specifics, we have little foundation from which to leap. Like trying to jump while treading water... we’d just kick our legs with little result.

When one dream doesn’t come true, it’s not a reason to stop dreaming.

If the life we have today is different than the life we once imagined, we don’t stop living.

No. We live our lives — our beautiful and nuanced lives — and we dream new dreams.

Just because we take detours doesn’t mean we’re deterred.

Our hopes, dreams, and ambitions carry us forward, and they’re in endless supply.

I’ve always had a thing for maps. Post Typography’s Bruce Willen and Nolen Strals speak of maps beautifully:

We've both been in love with maps since childhood. Maps represent exploration and possibility, but also depict specific (biased) ways of viewing the world. Geopolitical states are artificial constructs, but they define the literal limits of our opportunities and experiences. In our era of political, technological, and climate tumult boundaries and borders are increasingly symbolic and rapidly shifting.

When I learned about the limited-edition letterpress collaboration between Post Typography and the Aesthetic Union, I could hardly wait to place my order. These re-imagined maps of the United States and the world captivated me.

When the maps arrived at my home, however, I realized that I had only been enjoying a piece of these objects — the digitized, visual representation.

In holding the actual prints… the objects themselves… the work came to life in a new way. The physicality of the paper. The three-dimensional witness marks of the letterpress process. The scale of the work as it relates to the size of my hands and my body.

These things aren’t evident when looking at a screen. They’re not palpable on an Instagram feed.

As with many works of art, being in its physical presence makes a difference. Hearing a live performance. Standing in front of a sculpture. Standing within a sculpture. These are experiences that are not matched through documentation.

In a world where we can see everything through a browser window, it’s easy to forget that the map is not the territory, and as I’ve just been reminded… the image is not the map.

The easiest thing to do is to skim from the top. To take from what’s near the surface.

Food containers. Supply cabinets. Parts bins.

But we often do this with emotions, too, through banal conversation.

How have you been? How about this weather we're having?

We do this not just with strangers, but with friends and acquaintances we've known for years.

* * *

Our connections could be so much deeper and more meaningful if we had the courage to dip just below the surface. To discuss passions. Dreams. Ted talks and blog posts. Podcasts. Books and travels.

Conversation could turn to illumination and transformation, if we let it.

So, let it. But don't start by telling. Start by asking.