Titles can be funny things. Some of them are hard-earned. Some are bestowed.

Some people care dearly that their titles be used. Others do not.

Some insist upon “Doctor” while others balk at the acknowledgement of their credentials.

One person may be “Mr. So-and-so” while another is known by just his first name.

What matters most, of course, is the work we do. The way we treat others. The posture we assume.

And truly, living up to our various titles is far more noble than admonishing those who fail to use them.

Do you send a response? Do you celebrate a milestone? Do you post a sign? Do you charge for the service?

In business and in personal relationships, we’re often faced with situations where we could take action a number of different ways (or take no action at all).

It may be tempting to use Google to see what people do. Or to ask others, “How do you handle this?”

But it’s powerful to consider the perspective, “I (we) want to be the kind of person (company) that does it this way.”

Don’t be like everyone else, unless everyone else is doing it the way you think it should be done.

Research if you’d like, but ultimately … do it your way. Remarkably so.

If you want to act like a billionaire, you’ll need some significant resources to pull it off effectively.

Likewise, if you’re going to project yourself as someone who’s “in the know” on a certain topic, you’d better have legitimate inside information to back it up.

But to play the part of someone who is confident, empathetic, kind, or generous ...

We need no extra resources to act in these ways.

We just have to begin.

I was in a bookstore yesterday, feeling a wonderful surge of possibility.

So much wisdom, insight, and potential ... all within arm’s reach.

But we have to crack the books, don’t we? We have to read their contents. We have to allow ourselves to be moved and changed.

The text does not force itself upon us. It’s up to us to take the first step.

Some text is worth reading twice.

Some podcasts are worth hearing more than once.

Some messages are worth consuming so slowly, so deliberately, and so completely, that we accept the words into our hearts and our souls.

When the work feeds us, a single glance will not suffice.

It’s exciting to find new material. To find new authors and new work.

But there’s value, too, in regularly revisiting art that has nourished us in the past.

There’s something wonderful when an image or text is both familiar and new. That we can sit with work we know deeply, and continue to learn from it.

If you’re looking for inspiration, you might enjoy The Art of Possibility by Rosamund Stone Zander and Benjamin Zander or Seth Godin’s Linchpin. I’ve read each of these more than once, and I’ll read them again.

Sometimes there’s an awkwardness that happens when someone’s following us through a door, but they’re not particularly close.

How long do we pause in order to open the door for the next person? A few seconds? Fifteen? Thirty seconds?

It’s kind of odd when I think about it. That our “standard” courtesy only has a shelf life of five seconds or so. That pausing thirty seconds to be kind seems like an unusual effort.

And yet, what if we adopted a new attitude? What if thirty seconds (or more!) was not an inconvenience at all? That we would gladly pause to be kind, civil, and courteous, just because that’s what we do? What if we all began to approach the world in this way?

The chipmunk that just darted into his burrow hasn’t survived this long by standing up to be seen. He hides, and he does it quickly.

“Hide and survive” is a great strategy ... if you’re a chipmunk.

But you’re not a chipmunk.

It’s time to stand up and be seen. The world needs you in it, and you have work to contribute.

I couldn’t find my keys. I checked every pocket. I was wearing two jackets. Maybe an inside pocket? No.

Turns out, my keys were in the pocket of the fleece I was wearing earlier in the day.

No matter how many pockets I checked, I wasn’t going to find my keys in what I was wearing.

There’s a metaphor here. Sometimes the things we need — whether it’s compassion, or patience, or strength, or moxie — sometimes those things aren’t within our reach when we’re wearing the wrong coat (the coat of ego, or selfishness, or resentment, or self-pity). For instance, there’s not a pocket in the coat of anger that has space for curiosity.

It’s worth considering what we’re wearing, and making a wardrobe change when necessary.

We don’t reserve integrity for the glamorous jobs. We begin by bringing our best work to everything we do — even if we consider our beginnings to be humble.

Leveling up starts by doing good work where we are ... not by saving our best selves for when we get to where we want to be.

Of all the things that can hold us back in this world ... why would we let ourselves be one of them?

What’s worse: for some of us, we can be our own worst adversary.

But it doesn’t have to be this way.

Thing is, we’re one obstacle over which we have complete control.

Let’s make sure we get out of our own way.

Our emotions can be like a body of water.

Stirred-up and agitated, moved and disturbed, it can take time for things to settle — for calm and clarity to return.

It’s important to recognize this within ourselves ... and equally important to remember that others experience it too.

Whether we’re the agitator, the agitated, or a thoughtful passerby, sensitivity to this goes a long way.

You can’t change your history.

You can’t change the pathways that have led you to this very moment.

But you can change the way you understand those paths.

You can change the frame around that history.

You can change the way you tell the story of you.

And you can decide where to go from here.

That next step ... it’s yours to take. Always.

I saw two musical performances recently. Each performance had one song that didn’t receive any applause.

It’s an odd thing. Someone plays to an audience ... and no one claps.

What’s an artist to do? Say, “This is where you clap”?

No. The musician plays the next song. Maybe noting, “That song didn’t work so well,” but not stopping. Just moving on. Maybe it’s a little like stand-up comedy in that way.

And like the musicians and comics, we do the same. When our work doesn’t resonate with those we seek to serve, we create more work. Better work, if we can.

Applause or not ... we play the next song.

A few days ago, I closed an online account for a service I wasn’t using. What I didn’t realize is that this action would unsubscribe me from some daily blogs I read via email.

Yesterday, I figured out what happened, so I was able to catch up on what I had missed and re-subscribe to those lists.

This experience reminded me of a few things.

One: sometimes we cut one string without realizing all of its connections. Only afterwards do we see what has unintentionally unraveled.

Two: when we engage in something of value, we truly miss it when it’s gone. The more we value it, the more we’ll miss it.

Three: as a loyal reader, I feel a kind of commitment to the writers I follow. I’ve come to know these writers — in a sense — through what I’ve read. And that connection has two parts: the writer ... and the reader. I like knowing that I’m a part of that equation, though I’m just a small part.

* * *

In a time when many are lobbying for the right to be “digitally forgotten” and erased from databases — a right that is already legislated in some countries — we may begin to experience this more often. A delete here may mean a delete there, and there, and there.

Our connections, it seems, are sometimes beyond our awareness.

There’s value to being direct.

Hinting and hoping is an approach some people take. Dropping clues. Subtly nudging you to do what they want.

But we’re often busy. Or distracted. Or just not picking up on the right message. Or we have a reason for not complying.

If you want something, sometimes the best thing to do is to ask for it ... clearly.

You might just get what you want. And if you don’t, you can make a new plan. Or potentially have a conversation about why the answer is no.

Hints and clues … they’re often best left for game shows and detective novels.

Sometimes people reserve praise with the precaution, “We don’t want her to get a big head ...”

What’s behind that? Are we really concerned about egos running amok? Do we feel personally responsible for creating conceit in others?

Unfortunately, people who lean toward vanity can usually get there all on their own.

* * *

We practice generosity when we affirm the good work of others. We express, “I see you, and I appreciate you. Keep going.” Wonderful things can stem from that recognition.

Worth noting: it could be that biting our tongue when we witness excellence … that might have more to do with our own pride, and less to do with reigning in the pride of others. Probably good to keep that in check, too.

As you enter the theater that is this world, you get to choose your place.

You can sit in one of the many seats, prepared to be entertained.

Or you can take the stage.

Whether solo, or among a troupe, the stage is available to you.

You have a voice and a perspective.

The lights are up and the mic is hot.

It’s showtime. Are you going to be in a seat ... or downstage?

There’s a big difference between, “I can’t” and “I can’t try”.

The first is often a hypothesis, rather than a conclusion.

And the second might be a conclusion, but it’s a fallacy.

Said another way:

“I can’t” is sometimes true ...

but there’s no truth in “I can’t try”.

* * *

P.S. To all the readers who found me through Rohan’s post ... welcome! Please don’t hesitate to start a conversation (replies to the blog mailing go right to my inbox). I am truly glad you’re here.

Gratefully,

stephen

Having the wind at your back is a good feeling.

Thing is, if you always position yourself so the wind is at your back, you’ll only go wherever the wind blows … and that might not be a very good plan.

Some days, the wind is going to meet us head-on. That resistance, however, might be the very signal that we’re headed in the direction of work that matters.