The challenge with preventative measures is that they’re a mix of boring, tedious, and inconvenient.

And when they work, nothing happens. That’s the whole point.

Alternatively, emergency response and triage are lively. Stop the bleeding. Set the bone. Intubate.

* * *

The problem is that we like to see things working. We like tangible evidence.

That’s why it’s hard to stick with a plan when we don’t see immediate results.

Diets have this problem. So do daily vitamins. And meditation. And exercise. Social distancing, too.

The input is near-term and evident. The output is long-term and beyond the horizon.

But if today’s inconveniences are an investment in tomorrow, they’re a wise investment.

If you had to pay for what you were about to say, would it be worth it?

If personal assets were debited every time you spoke, what would you choose to say and what would you keep to yourself?

Maybe that would help us to think more carefully about what we’re saying and why.

But even if we pay nothing, being purposeful in what we say ... that’s an effort worth making.

If your goal is to reach a certain number, and you’ve reached it, congratulations! Maybe you’re done now.

But if your goal is to maintain a certain posture — to keep a streak going — then the numbers don’t matter quite as much. What matters is “the next one.”

Congratulations for passing a milestone. That can be fun, and cause for celebration.

Now ... on to the next one.

There’s no shortage of people who will — upon seeing someone else take action — say, “I was going to do that.”

Some of them might even be telling the truth.

Wouldn’t we rather be the people who actually do things, and not the observers who muse about what might have been?

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.