I recently created a video. When I was ready to upload it to an online platform, I noticed that the file had a very strange auto-generated thumbnail.

It was a still-shot of me right as my face was making an odd expression.

In real time, the expression lasted a fraction of a second. Here, as a frozen thumbnail, it looked bizarre.

Did the moment happen? Yes.

Was it an accurate expression of me? No, not really.

Here’s the bigger picture: some moments define us. Other times, they’re just a flash where we’ve acted strangely or in ways that would make for a poor summary of who we are.

And we should keep this in mind for others, too. It’s quite easy to let one interaction serve as the foundation of our understanding of someone else.

Sometimes that can be a good thing. Other times, our story is built upon a fleeting, uncharacteristic thumbnail.

The generous thing to do is to give — or to take.

The generous thing to do is to be together — or to be apart.

The generous thing to do is to speak — or to remain silent.

Context determines the form that generosity takes; intention serves as its guide.

We learn by taking action.

Not by thinking. Not by imagining. But by doing.

We must read. We must observe. We must reflect. We must study.

But above all, to learn ... we must do.

This very moment will soon be a memory.

What will you choose to take forward?

What will you leave behind?

How will this moment change you?

And most importantly, how will you make sure it’s a change for the better?

You’re allowed to sit still.

You’re allowed to be bored.

You’re allowed to do nothing.

But you’re also allowed to start something.

And you’re allowed to do a new thing you’ve never tried.

You’re allowed to do something that might be uncomfortable. Something that might not work. Something bold that you’ve been afraid to do up until this point.

No one is stopping you.

And ... no one is starting you.

But someone is encouraging you.

The time to begin is now.

Just because we can’t measure it, graph it, or put it in a table ... doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do it.

Some things are the right thing to do, regardless of whether they fit into a tidy report.

It might even be that the most important things that we do are the hardest to quantify.

When we hear of a wealthy person making a large donation, we might think, “Well sure. She has a lot of money. That’s easy for her to do.”

Or when someone who’s retired volunteers time to help a non-profit: “Of course. He has plenty of time on his hands.”

But regardless of how easy we think it is for others to help (which may or may not be true) it’s important to recognize: helping is a choice.

Whether it’s easy to help or not, helpers have made a choice to give of themselves.

No matter the balance of our blessings and burdens, may we all choose to help in the ways we are able.

In any given conversation, there are a thousand things we could say. The more interesting the discussion, the more our neurons are firing.

But we can’t say it all. We can’t give voice to every thought. We can’t even give voice to every good thought.

We have to choose what to share.

Particularly in group settings, it’s useful to consider: is what I’m about to say a generous contribution? Can I re-frame my personal insights so that they serve the needs of others?

There’s an old joke about a patient who says, “Doctor! It hurts everywhere I touch. Here. And here. And here.” To which the doctor replies, “Hmm. I see. It seems that you have a broken finger.”

I recalled this joke as my five-year-old son complained — bending his arm in a peculiar way — “It hurts when I do this.”

To which I replied, “Then stop doing that.”

* * *

It prompts some deeper thinking. How often do we visit the places where we’ve been hurt? Not to heal, but to revisit the pain?

It can be tempting to press on old wounds ... or to prod scars from injuries long since healed.

But does that serve us?

If feeling the pain is not helping us — if it’s instead tethering us to the past — perhaps it’s best to “stop doing that.”

Leap. Jump. Go all in.

And remember that sometimes when you jump in, you’re going to go underwater right away.

That’s normal. Don’t worry: it’s temporary.

It takes a moment to get back to the surface where you can breathe.

The bigger the leap, the longer it takes.

* * *

When we dream big dreams and take on big projects ... we take big leaps.

Don’t fear that initial moment of submersion. It’s part of the process.

It takes courage to speak out.

It takes restraint to say nothing.

It takes wisdom to know which one to choose.

You are already playing the game. You’re at the dance. You have a seat at the table. You’ve been invited, or you got there on your own. You’re doing it.

So now that you’ve made it to where you are, how are you making room for others?

If we don’t play because we’re not a prodigy, we’ll never play.

If we don’t perform because we’re not a virtuoso, we’ll never perform.

If we don’t speak because we’re not the preeminent expert, we’ll never speak.

You see where this is going.

Stop comparing. Stop with the self-criticism.

Play. Work. Speak. Create. Produce. Publish. Do.

Forget the spectrum of who’s more accomplished and who’s more novice (and where you fit into it all).

Just do the thing. Do it as best you can. Do it with heart.

Your fingerprints. Your voice. Your way.

Then do it again.

Creativity always lives alongside things that are more pressing. More consequential. More in need of our attention.

Art does not displace issues of life and death.

And yet.

And yet we continue to make room for creativity. To make sacrifices to pursue it. To make art, to embrace art, and to share art.

Creativity becomes a life sustaining thing of its own. It enriches us, it challenges us, and it grows us.

So we suspend other things — or we integrate them — and we pursue that noble thing that is creativity, and the world is better for it.

There’s a schedule for most check-ups. The annual physical. The mileage-based oil change. The quarterly audit. Site visits, cleanings, and routine maintenance. All on the calendar.

But what about ourselves?

No one calls us to say, “You’re due for a check-in with yourself.” We don’t get a letter in the mail: “You’re overdue for some serious introspection and self-assessment.”

Perhaps we’re fortunate enough to have a friend, a coach, or a therapist who prompts us.

More often, we’re left to ourselves to look inward. And that can cause anxiety — like an overdue visit to the dentist.

But if we’re intentional ... if we keep a schedule and check in with ourselves regularly ... it doesn’t have to be so ominous. It might just be a friendly conversation we have with ourselves a few times a year.

“How am I? How do I want to be? What are my beliefs? My goals? My vision? How am I doing with all of it?”

If it helps, put it on the calendar right now. All those other things have a place on the schedule; you deserve a check-in too.

As we travel the road of life, we’ve reached a part of the journey that doesn’t look like anything we’ve seen before.

It’s uncomfortable. It’s unnerving. And while we seek comfort — holding on to what we know — waiting for “back to normal” is a mistake.

There is no “back” really. Only forward.

Up ahead, the road may begin to look familiar, but it’s still a road we’ve never traveled. That’s always the case.

If we wait for tomorrow to be yesterday, we’ll wait forever. Said another way, time spent trying to turn back the clock is time wasted.

Don’t wait for yesterday to come back. In fact, don’t wait at all. We have the present moment and we have what’s next.

Embrace that. Live that.

Satisfaction is not found at the bottom of the feed.

Wisdom isn’t acquired by scrolling further down.

Peace is not discovered by tapping and clicking.

And yet, by the intensity with which we stare at screens, one might think otherwise.

We can be wise, but we can also be forgetful.

More often than we’d like to admit, we’ve failed to take our own good advice.

More often than we’d like to admit, we’ve stumbled over the same minor obstacles.

With a humble heart, however, we can look back to lessons we’ve learned and times that we’ve offered sound counsel.

And we can learn once again, and we can listen to ourselves.

A crisis affects many things, but it doesn’t necessarily affect every-thing.

How does one read a book during a crisis? Or eat? Or tend to a chore? Or breathe deeply?

The answer might be: in the same way as usual.

Despite a shaken world or a shaken mindset ... some things of life can be insulated. Some things can remain remarkably (even eerily) unchanged.

Just because there’s a crisis ... doesn’t mean that “crisis mode” applies to every activity or every situation. It can’t.

And maybe — just maybe — that’s a good thing.

We live in a world of ratings and reviews. One star. Five star. A-plus. Triple-C. Don’t-waste-your-time. Delicious.

Some ratings can — and should — hold weight. Crash tests and medical trial results come to mind.

But lots of ratings are based on taste and opinion.

It’s why any given book, movie, or series ... has its super-fans as well as its haters. What one person loves, another can’t stand.

So what does this mean?

It means that it’s OK to put faith in our own taste. To love what we love, to not treat every 5/5 rating as gospel, and to remember every review is written from a particular author’s perspective.

And that reviewer might not want what you want or appreciate what you appreciate.

Love what you love.