Connection doesn’t require unusual circumstances and serendipity. Often, it happens with a simple question.

How did you come to live here? What do you do for work? What sort of things interest you?

The questions themselves aren’t as important as the message they send: I’m interested in knowing about you.

And a question can turn into a conversation ... which might even turn into a friendship.

But it doesn’t start with us talking about ourselves. It starts with us being genuinely curious about someone else.

There will be turns in the road.

There will be obstacles.

There’s no scenario where the road is free, clear, and infinitely straight.

So the thing to do … is to learn how to steer.

It’s not about seeking utopia.

It’s about learning how to navigate reality.

Remaining grateful is challenging. The thing is, we get used to things being how they are. When we experience prolonged good, we tend to forget that things are indeed good.

It’s when sickness or death or hardship are upon us ... that’s when we become keenly aware that moments or days or weeks ago ... things were better, or in better balance.

For me, it’s a sore throat that brings this into focus today. Two days ago, I had no consciousness of my throat. Two days ago, I was in full health, without pausing to be grateful for it.

Small price to pay ... a sore throat. It’s a little reminder to be grateful for the many good things in life. Family. Friends. Health. Safety.

To not wait until these things are threatened or missing ... but to be grateful today. Now. This very moment.

On my way home from work the other day, I saw a dozen cars stopped where traffic normally flows smoothly. The backup went beyond a bend in the road.

“What's going on?” I wondered. Accident? Animal in the road? Broken-down vehicle?

I turned down another road and took a different way home. No time lost.

It made me think, however, of the times I’ve made an effort to see what’s going on. Not intentionally sitting in traffic ... but rather, seeing what the commotion is about. Hearing an argument and perking up my ear. Seeing something going on and changing course to go investigate. Not in order to help, but to indulge in a little rubbernecking.

Perhaps not a big deal.

However, if we have important work to do — if we value our time, our energy, and our purpose — we might think twice about falling so easily into distraction. As best we can, let’s stay focused on the work that matters.

The hard work is not collecting the data. Or putting it into pretty charts and graphs.

The hard work is deciding what to do now that we see the data.

All that discussion and analysis and interpretation is useless if we’re not willing to take action.

Darkness. A porch lamp here and there. Stars filling the sky, but doing little to light our way.

As my son and I walked toward our house, we could hear the insects of the night ... calling to each other over the sounds of our footsteps.

We stopped to listen.

* * *

In pausing, the nighttime sounds seemed to crescendo.

All of a sudden, we were keenly aware of how loud things were around us.

Sometimes, it takes stopping — being still and quiet — in order to have an awareness of what’s around us.

This idea extends beyond evening walks, of course. It can applied to business, family, politics, culture ...

Take a moment to quiet the sounds of your own footsteps and your own work, and to listen deeply.

Really listen, and embrace the crescendo.

“They might _______.”

Our lizard brain completes the sentence with:

• … laugh at me.

• … ridicule my work.

• … not understand.

• … ignore me.

• … fire me.

With practice, we can overcome fear. We can consider possibility. We can ponder what happens if they might …

• … love it.

• … be moved.

• … say yes.

• … join me.

• … ask me to do it again.

• … help me to grow.

• … become true fans.

Expecting the worst will keep us hiding. It will stop us from trying. From taking risks. But we can change our expectations … or at least consider the possibility that things might just work in our favor.

What are you building?

And what are you breaking down?

What are you trying to create?

And what are you trying to destroy?

We observe, but we are not observers; we are actors. Engagers. Change-makers.

Whether we’re making the system, or breaking the system ... we have important work to do, and we can’t lose sight of that.

When you’re having a side-conversation while someone is presenting, you’re not listening to the speaker. And it doesn’t stop there.

It’s not just the people involved in the side-conversation who are no longer listening to the presentation. The people who overhear that side-conversation — or who see it happening — they’re distracted too. At its worst, the speaker even becomes a part of that distracted group.

Being a good audience member doesn’t take skill ... but it does take discipline. Have some self-control and save that side-conversation for the right time.

In a quick text, “nowhere to go but up,” auto-completed to, “nowhere to go but uphill.” It’s a funny shift in meaning.

We often talk about “up” as being a positive condition. Things are looking up. The market is up.

But uphill? That points to struggle. Hardship.

Easy to forget that when things aren’t moving upwards on their own ... we can begin to climb. That uphill is a journey worth taking. That “up” is a condition we can make happen.

Sometimes the hard part is just showing up. Being present. Being accountable.

For as much effort as it takes to avoid encounters, to give excuses, to hide — that’s the easier thing to do.

Having the moxie to show up as you are ... to say, “This is who I am, and this is what I bring,” ... that takes guts.

It doesn’t take special training or formal education. It takes desire, and a little bit of nerve.

Stop hiding. It’s time to be seen.

What’s important to you?

Do your actions reflect what you say is important?

Or do you let less relevant activities fill up your days?

If something’s important enough to say “it’s important” then let your actions show it. Commit to it. Make a plan. Set a schedule. Make progress.

If you’re not willing to take those steps, you’d better stop saying it’s important.

When you ask, when you petition, when you beseech, when you pray ... is it for yourself, or for others? Who benefits from the majority of your requests? Are you thinking of yourself first, or of someone else?

What’s interesting is that when you think of others first — when you work on their behalf — it nourishes you too. Win-win.

Over time, your song will change. The lyrics will vary. So will its melody and tempo.

That’s OK. That’s natural.

The thing to remember: don’t stop singing.

The world needs to hear your voice … and you’re the only one who can sing your song.

The fair-weather fan has a challenge. He has to figure out how the team is performing to know how to cheer. He has to know that the team is winning in order to wear the team colors. He has to check the numbers to set his allegiance.

The true fan cheers from the heart. She loves the team no matter the score or the record. She roots for the team whether they’re up or they’re down. It’s about the team, not the stats they’re posting this week.

And perhaps there’s a metaphor here. Strong families ... enduring relationships ... they’re built with the spirit of a true fan. Better or worse. Scoring or scoreless. Their commitment is through and through ... and the weather’s not a factor.

When I drive to a different part of the country, I often think: I’m representing my home state. I have a Pennsylvania license plate. That means something.

When I merge into traffic ... when I demonstrate courtesy ... when I park in a lot ... people will have occasion to think, “Hmm. This is what people from Pennsylvania are like.”

It’s illogical, but they’re more likely to consider me as a representative of an entire state than they are to think, “This is what one person from that state is like.”

Like it or not, we tend to represent the folks back home. We’re ambassadors.

Particularly when we’re away from hometowns, let’s do a good job of representing our people.

I used a newly renovated bathroom yesterday. It was clean and the finishes were beautiful … but a few things were not quite right.

The toilet seat was loose. The sink was not affixed to its base. The faucet was low, making it awkward to wash hands. The towel bar was high and nearly out of reach.

While the design was picture-perfect, the functionality was lacking.

This seems like an example of someone doing the hard work of building something, but not doing the easy work of using it — checking to see that it all works properly. Leaving the role of designer and adopting the role of user.

Design. Build. Test. Adjust if necessary.

If we’re not testing, we’re doing a disservice to those we seek to serve.

The road to mediocrity is paved with critical statements like, “I could do that.”

This idea that one sees something someone else is doing, and whispers to a friend, “Yeah. I could do that.”

As if speaking the dismissive phrase is akin to having actually done the thing.

As if there’s merit in just having the ability to do something. Or saying you do.

No. It’s the doing that deserves the credit.

Those who pooh-pooh the doers ... well, they’re least likely to create much value.

Spend a day in any organization, and you’ll be able to see who the leaders are.

You won’t identify them through an org chart, or where they sit, or what they wear.

You’ll know them by how they interact with others. How they respond to challenges. How they make things better.

Leadership isn’t determined by a label. Leadership is action. It’s poise and posture ... not position.

Some of the books on my bookshelves ... I haven’t read. I intend to read them, but I haven’t gotten to them yet. Some of them have even been on the shelf, unread, for years.

I’ve always felt a tinge of regret about this. As though these books represent small failures. Little goals I never achieved. But a friend helped me to re-frame this.

Unread books serve as a reminder of the many things we do not know. A world of knowledge we have not yet accessed.

A plentiful, personal library — even one filled with unfamiliar texts — is the mark of someone with a healthy, intellectual curiosity. A lifelong learner.

Make time for the unread works, as time goes by. But when you discover pristine books with unblemished spines, don’t feel the sting of self-reproach; see those books through the lens of possibility … and a reminder of your endless passion for learning and growing.