The world isn’t usually a panel discussion; it’s mostly an open mic night.

That is, there are few times that we will be called upon to speak.

More often, the microphone is available to us … but we need to walk up to it on our own.

No special invitation. No special introduction.

Just our convictions and our willingness to voice them.

We marvel at the example. “I wish I could do that,” or “What I if I looked like that?” or “It must be nice to have that thing.”

But when we do this, we focus on a result and we ignore:

• the countless hours of training.

• the mental toughness.

• the discipline.

• the sacrifice.

• the emotional labor.

• the early mornings and late nights.

• the dedication.

• the struggle.

In seeing only the harvest, we neglect to honor all the work that goes into bringing it forth.

There’s power in rest. In separating one’s self ... going into nature, finding quiet, being alone in thought.

Many of us keep the kind of busy schedules that make the idea of retreat seem impossible.

But if we can’t take a weekend away, what about an afternoon? Or maybe just an hour?

An hour of intentional thought, outside of normal routines, in a nearby park or a quiet corner not too far away?

How much good could that hour do for us? Centering our thoughts. Reconnecting with our purpose. Reengaging the best version of ourselves.

And that brief time of retreat — more than just ourselves — what happens when we give that as a gift? Creating time and opportunity for someone we care about to step away and to explore quiet?

A break can happen quickly. A broken bone, a broken commitment, a broken relationship ... it can happen in a flash.

But the mending never happens that way. It can’t. Healing takes time.

The break is quick; the healing is slow.

And while we can’t speed it along, remembering that it takes time might just help us to be patient.

When we offer our thoughts, we like to hear: “That’s a good idea.”

We need that affirmation. Sometimes we’re desperate to hear it.

Too often, however, we forget to say this to ourselves. We kill our own ideas before they have a chance. Or we look so hard for the perfect idea that the good ideas are ignored.

Let’s start here ... by reminding ourselves, “I have good ideas, and I can be a contribution.”

Not all badges should be worn on our chests.

Some should be kept on the inside of our jackets — close to our hearts — serving as reminders of who we are and who we have the potential to be.

Not a signal to others, but a signal to ourselves.

A man who works in my office building keeps to himself. In the hallways, he looks at his feet when we pass.

But last weekend, I saw him at an event. He had a yo-yo attached to his finger and he had a small audience completely captivated. As he put on the show, he was alive. Engaging. Conversational. Shining.

Different setting. Different presence.

* * *

Just because someone doesn’t shine where we encounter them ... doesn’t mean they don’t shine elsewhere. They may — and likely do — have remarkable qualities completely hidden from our view.

More than fifteen years ago, my wife and I sat in a sunlit shop choosing flowers for our wedding. The florist showed us many beautiful options.

And we said, “Ah. These are pretty. Oh, these are pretty, too. And these as well.”

After considering dozens of options, we finally realized: they’re flowers. They’re all pretty. We had to choose using another measure.

The lesson rings true years later. There are times in life when we have to choose from many good options, many qualified applicants, many attractive candidates. (We get to experience both sides of this.)

Inevitably, worthy candidates are turned away. Brilliant leaders, skilled artists, talented athletes, innovative change-makers ... like beautiful flowers: some are picked, some are not.

Of course, unlike flowers, we will have opportunities to pick ourselves. To give ourselves permission to start something new. To sidestep those who do the choosing, and to build something of our own.

How much are you leaving in the tank?

What’s that extra for?

Considering what you’re trying to do … do you need to hold on to that last little bit?

Or should you go for it, and give it everything you’ve got?

It doesn’t apply to everything, but some things are important enough to go all in.

Today is a great day to express, “I love you,” without using words.

Not through grand, elaborate coordination — but through small, intentional acts ... done with mindfulness and sincerity.

We learn to juggle by first learning to toss (and catch) one ball. Only one. Then two. Then three ...

We start small.

While the vision is to be juggling, we do not begin by throwing all the balls into the air simultaneously.

And yet this is what we sometimes do with projects. We begin by launching them all at once. All the balls in the air without a viable catching strategy.

Instead of “toss, toss, toss,” what happens when we play, “toss, catch,” and then we do it again?

Small steps that we can complete are small steps that can be repeated.

That ... is momentum.

Yesterday, I committed to spending twenty minutes thinking about an important person in my life. Considering life from her perspective. Hoping for her. Praying for her. Beseeching the universe on her behalf.

It was a challenge.

Staying with an empathetic thought — holding space for that mindset — is difficult. Our mind wanders. The world distracts us. A shiny tangent pulls our attention. We start to think about ourselves.

I found, however, that I was able to refocus. To recommit to my intention. And in doing so, I happened upon new thoughts. New perspectives. New concepts I might not have otherwise considered.

And something else became clear: the world generously offers us expansive opportunities to think deeply. But the culture ... the culture is an ever-moving, ringing bell.

Here. Now over here.

Now there. Now over there.

While the culture can offer delightful paths to explore, it may come at the expense of our deepest thoughts and our most profound discoveries.

Choose a thought. Stay with it. Stay with it more.

See what can blossom.

I subscribe to a few daily email news briefings. This past week, five days passed where I didn’t read any of those briefings; other things took priority.

Yes, I like to be informed. Yes, current affairs are important.

But did I miss anything? No, not really. Nothing of consequence, at least. The most important news got to me through other channels.

The lesson I learned here is not to ignore the news, but rather to recognize that there’s a lot of turbulence on the surface. That the day-to-day happenings are so constant and endless that if we’re not careful, we’ll get stuck there on the surface, forever thrashing about.

If you take a deep dive into something important, good for you. The stuff happening on the surface will still be there when you return, and you won’t miss a whole lot while you’re down below.

When you’re lost, confused, or feeling self-doubt, these questions can be stable foundations: “What’s now?” and “What’s next?”

What’s now? — What is really happening? What’s real and what’s imagined? How am I framing this challenge?

What’s next? — What is my next move? What are my options? What are all of my options? And very importantly: What’s the smallest step I can take in the right direction?

(HT to Scott, who has reminded me of these questions more than once.)

I’m working on some letterhead designs for a client.

On screen, the pages are about four inches by six inches. All of the options I’ve created seem reasonably balanced. Nicely composed.

But when I print the designs full-size (8-1/2 x 11") everything changes. This part is too big. That part is too heavy. These letters look wrong.

The documents — in physical space, at their actual size — look quite different than they do on the screen.

It’s a salient reminder. The digital world is different. What seems reasonable behind a screen could be quite wrong in the analog world. What seems accurate digitally can seem completely wrong in the flesh.

In a way, the screen tells us a story. Sometimes it’s told accurately. Sometimes, it’s a far cry from the truth.

It’s neither good nor bad … but it’s important to remember.

Last night, I played the piano and sang for a crowd. During one of the songs, I bungled a line of lyrics.

My heart sinks when this happens ... but it does happen every once in a while.

However, my hands continued in time on the piano.

My foot was steady on the damper pedal.

I hadn’t fallen off the bench.

Except for a few garbled words, all was well.

* * *

Too often, we make one mistake, and we want to scuttle the ship.

But it’s in those moments (and they can be the briefest of moments) that we must call to mind all that is going right. All the things that haven't gone awry.

To press forward, and to leave the mistake where it belongs — in the past.

It’s important to have intellectual, academic, and spiritual guides. People you follow. People you follow closely.

But you can’t keep track of it all. It’s perilous to follow that closely. Consider those who follow every movement, every tweet, and every breath of a celebrity.

When you’re that kind of follower, you can lose track of your own journey. You can lose your own path.

Just like in transportation: if you follow too closely, you’re likely to get into an accident.

Which do you want?

The status quo has a magnetic pull. We don’t like change; we resist it.

And yet, at the same time, many of us insist that we want things to be better.

But “better” doesn’t happen without change.

You can’t have it both ways.

Many times, we approach a situation thinking, “This must be about me.”

Whether it’s someone’s mood, or their recent post on social media, or a new policy at the office ... it’s easy to assume that what we’re experiencing is the world responding to us. That people’s words and actions are a direct response to our own activity.

But it’s important to remember that each of us leads a complicated life with many nuanced connections.

That what people are doing, saying, and sharing might be part of a completely different narrative, and not a coded commentary about us.

(It’s even possible that they’re not thinking about you at all.)

When we’re in the wheat field, we’re not baking bread.

* * *

Where are you collecting ... and where are you employing what you have? Using what you’ve collected?

There’s a balance. If all we do is collect, what’s in storage helps no one.

Whether it’s money, fame, knowledge, or material goods ... always, always, always what’s most important is what we do with what we have.