Compared to what you were expecting?

Compared to what you were hoping?

Compared to what others have?

Compared to how it could have been?

Compared to your best?

Compared to someone else’s best?

Compared to yesterday?

* * *

When we make an assessment of good or bad, better or worse, we’re often (perhaps always) making a comparison.

The question is: compared to what?

And importantly: how does that particular point of comparison serve us?

Some people will not be ready to hear your great idea. They will be uninspired. Uninterested. Unconcerned.

And that’s normal.

Whether it’s a child, a student, a family member, a colleague, a stranger, or a friend ... there are times our ideas will not resonate.

We have three options.

• One: feel frustrated. Try to force the idea; it’s a good one after all.

• Two: seek a more receptive audience. Find the people who will love your idea.

• Three: come up with better ideas. Maybe there’s a reason the first idea didn’t resonate.

Option number one — the one where we spend all our energy trying to convince the one person in the room who doesn’t get the joke — that’s a long, frustrating, and usually unsatisfying road to travel.

With ambition comes determination and grit. And sometimes, the anxiety of stopping. The fear that, “If I stop, I’ll lose all momentum and I’ll be stuck.”

Maybe so.

However, re-starting is not always as difficult as we think. Many times, all that’s necessary is a small step. And that small step results in forward motion and renewed momentum.

That first small step might not even be the biggest challenge. The biggest challenge might be overcoming the fear of taking that first small step.

So often, mothers set aside their own interests to selflessly focus on the needs of others.

Perhaps to honor the mothers in our lives, we can help them to step away and to pause. Ask them to call to mind their own wants, needs, and desires … and to do what we can to serve those needs, and to help those dreams come to be.

And maybe this isn’t just a task for today. Maybe it’s a posture we fully commit to maintaining.

Just prior to a video conference with a colleague, I realized I didn’t have a link to his Zoom room where we had planned to meet.

We sorted it out quickly enough, but his revelation stuck with me: “I created the invitation. I just forgot to send it out.”

It prompted some deeper thinking for me. How often are we open to an experience, or willing to assist, or ready to act ... yet we don’t send out the invite?

A generous mindset is part of the equation. Taking action is critical too.

But our presence of mind to communicate — to share a clear message of, “I’m ready. How can I help?” — that’s often the key part that puts things in motion.

Create a beautiful, generous invitation ... just don’t forget to send it out.

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.