If we can’t fix it, then we rebuild it. But how? Where do we start?

We don’t begin with a new design. We begin by recommitting to our values.

What’s important to us? Where are we unwilling to compromise and where are we flexible? What mistakes did we make the last time and how can we learn from them?

And the most critical guides: who’s it for and what’s it for?

There are times when layering upon what we already have is a foolish approach. Instead, we need to dig deeper. We need to reconnect to our core. From there, we begin to rebuild.

It may be that the system is doing exactly what the system was designed to do.

That the institution is producing the types of individuals it was designed to produce.

That the school is creating the types of thinkers it was designed to create.

Possible that some things aren’t broken, but rather working the way their designers intended.

You can’t fix a system that’s working to spec.

But when the results are found wanting, you can build a new system. A better system. A better school. A better structure. A better culture.

That kind of change isn’t done through light editing. It’s done through bold thinking, intrepid creativity, a posture of empathy, and a commitment to progress.

When we make an assertion regarding “most people” let’s be clear:

• ... in my family

• ... from my office

• ... at my school

• ... in my state

• ... in this country

• ... in this culture

• ... in this world

And if it’s more accurate to say, “I assume many people ...” then we should use that phrase instead.

As our circle of reference increases, it’s more and more likely that when we talk about “most people” what we’re really doing is making a guess based on our assumptions.

And making assumptions about large groups of people — depending on the assumption, of course — has the potential to be problematic.

If it’s uncomfortable to speak out for justice, then let us be uncomfortable.

If we lose social status in our fight for the dignity of others, then let us lose social status.

If we need to face ugly truths in order to counter the evils of racism, then let us face ugly truths.

And if we need bravery to act on behalf of the voiceless, the oppressed, the marginalized, and the disenfranchised ... then let us be brave.

No matter the cost, let is do what is right.

What selfish thing today ... will leave a debt to pay tomorrow?

In contrast, what selfless act today — what kindness, generosity, and sacrifice — will help build the future we seek?

It’s a consideration that’s local as well as global. Personal as well as public.

One of these paths is hard. But it’s also brave, and honorable, and a better way forward.

I awoke to the sound of persistent thunder and steady rain. A beautiful and haunting sound. Unusual in its quantity, but not unfamiliar to my ears.

The lightning, however, was remarkable. It was strobe-like in its frequency. The sky ... repeatedly illuminated as though by special effect.

Memorably (perhaps unfortunately) my first, lucid, semi-conscious thought was, “I’ll watch it later.”

For a brief moment, my practiced response was to file it away as though it was a digital event — an on-demand resource that would be available to me in the future.

Of course, it was not.

As I awoke further, I was happy to chuckle at my sleepy error. Grateful, too, to have been reminded that some things — many things — can only be fully experienced in real-time, as they happen. No recordings. No replays.

Grand but fleeting moments that can only be lived as they unfold.

And just like that, as I finish typing these words … the storm and all its commotion — gone.

As we stare at screens and listen to reports, it’s easy to forget: we are not on the front line.

Yes, we are on some front lines. But there are many battles and many fronts; we only experience a few of them.

Others are fighting on the front lines of issues and events about which we sometimes know very little.

May we remember that the front line is different. It’s harder. It’s riskier. It’s challenging in ways that don’t translate to text, audio, photos, and video.

So what do we do? We begin with a posture of respect and of empathy. Of trying to imagine the world through someone else’s eyes.

And we hope that others will afford us the same kindness.

If what we want is to feel the release of yelling, or of throwing something, or of exerting an ungoverned burst of energy ... then we should recognize that urge. Call it for what it is.

If we’re angry, we can identify that feeling. We can try to understand what’s beneath that emotion. We can speak to its source.

If, however, we seek to affect change, then we should also be strategic in our actions. Thoughtful. Impassioned, yes. But also controlled and non-violent.

Expressing outrage can be just as important as making change happen — but they’re not the same thing.

If you’re having trouble making a change, consider interrupting the pattern.

Stop mid-bite. Stop mid-sentence. Mid-bottle. Mid-video. Mid-whatever. Don’t finish. Don’t get to the end. Just stop in the middle.

When we finish ... when we say, “after this month,” or, “after I’m done with this last one,” we allow cycles to perpetuate. After all, when a cycle ends, the natural thing is for another cycle to begin.

But if we seek to change — if we’re serious about it — we might as well start right away. Don’t wait until a natural pause, or a new day, or a new week.

Make the change now.

You can forgive yourself without letting yourself off the hook.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean, “now you can do whatever you want.”

It means that — without holding yourself prisoner because of the past — you can choose a new path forward.

Freedom in the forgiveness, accountability for the future.

“Is the sickness over yet, Daddy?”

How does one explain a pandemic to a five-year-old?

As we all watch numbers and trends shift around the globe, it’s evident: this is complicated. There’s no start and stop. There’s a lot of gray area.

And we experience clear restrictions amidst a complicated illness.

Our children will learn the value of hand washing. They will have an understanding of how viruses spread. They will know what it’s like to quarantine. And yes, some will know loss.

But hopefully, they will also learn how to use technology to maintain relationships. They’ll learn to be resourceful within constraints. They’ll develop new skills. And they’ll appreciate the sacredness of human connection.

The pandemic isn’t over yet. But the appreciation of health, family, friendship and connection isn’t over yet either.

And our best days are still ahead of us.

Sometimes the rules keep things from getting better. True, protocol and policy can keep society from falling apart … but blind, strict adherence to rules is the stuff of dystopian science fiction.

We’re better than that.

So what rules can we break in order to make things better? And what does better look like?

Breaking all of the rules is foolish. Rules serve a purpose and they create valuable guard rails. But where can we push against those rails? And where does it make sense to remove them?

Which rules are holding us back from better?

* * *

It’s worth clarifying: there are lots of guidelines (suggested by experts) related to curbing the spread of infectious disease. These are not the rules to break. The short-term improvement — like having fun at an over-crowded pool party — ignores the long-term risk. “Better now” does not always translate to a better tomorrow.

We can wait to be picked. Or we can work diligently, and look for opportunities wherever they are found.

They’re two different paths.

In one, we sit still, waiting for a door to open. Resting upon past efforts. Pointing to an aging portfolio.

In the other, we’re pushing, pulling, trying the handles, examining the locks. We’re not waiting; we’re working.

* * *

Instead of waiting for a gatekeeper to arrive, we can choose to become the master locksmiths.

It’s easy to fall into the thought pattern that there’s one right decision and many wrong decisions.

This is particularly vexing when “the one right decision” has not been identified ... which can lead to paralysis. A non-decision. (Which may be yet another wrong decision.)

But often, not only is there one right decision — there are many right decisions. We just have to choose one.

The beauty is, we’re pliable. Flexible. Adaptable. Adjustable. We can course-correct when necessary.

We don’t need to trust ourselves to always make the best decisions.

But we can trust ourselves to keep making decisions. To navigate what comes. To navigate whatever comes.

And so we decide. Right or wrong, we decide. And then we do it again.

We remember fallen heroes not by how we mourn, but by how we live.

May each of us find ways to live out our gratitude and to lead lives worthy of sacrifice.

When someone says, “Don’t take this the wrong way,” my body tenses.

Sure, I appreciate the warning, but my mind says, “You’re not going to like what you’re about to hear.” Something personal is about to be said or a blind spot is about to be revealed.

* * *

If we’re the speaker — the one delivering the critique — this is an opportunity to pause (before giving the “wrong way” prelude).

How might the context be given? How might the advice be offered in such a way that the listener understands its motivation? How can the delivery be such that its generosity is evident?

And if it’s not thoughtful and generous, perhaps “not taking it the wrong way” is a tall order.

The cashier said to me, “Huh! You certainly have a look about you.”

I must have appeared puzzled, as if waiting for an explanation. She obliged.

“Well, you’ve got a very young-looking face, but you also have a lot of gray hair.”

I laughed.

(It seems that I also look like the kind of person who doesn’t mind a candid discussion about his physical appearance.)

It was an amusing interaction, but it also got me thinking about the idea of having “a look” about one’s self.

Do we look friendly? Kind? Eager to help? Confident?

Looks aren’t everything, but the way we carry ourselves is something. Our expression is something. Our demeanor is something.

It’s worth some self-reflection: what kind of look do I have about me?

A dynamo is a device that turns mechanical energy into electrical current. You’ll often see these on touring bicycles where the spinning of the front wheel is used to power a light.

But we know that “dynamo” is also a word that describes a person with a lot of energy.

A consideration: how can we be like a dynamo? Not someone who’s merely energetic, but someone who gives energy to others? Someone who inspires others?

That a connection to us is not stress, negativity, or anxiety … but anticipation, liveliness, and possibility?

The other version of you is not behind schedule.

The other version of you is feeling organized.

The other version of you gave voice to conviction.

The other version of you acted with confidence.

The other version of you didn’t waste any time.

* * *

Of course, we are that version if we choose to be.

Instead of looking upon that other version of ourselves with longing and regret, we can step into that role. We can live there instead of visiting there.

We can be that better version ... striding forward, un-tethered from the past.

Robert Frost gives us the beautiful lines, “No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader.”

I come back to these words often, as they provide worthwhile, enduring challenges in the creative process.

* * *

How can we pour ourselves into our work? How can we open wide and give of ourselves, such that the reader is moved?

And how can we maintain life within our creative practice? How can we embrace discovery and play such that the reader is also surprised and inspired?

(Note that the “reader” is also the viewer, the listener, the consumer, the user, and the audience. It’s beyond medium. Beyond genre.)

If we approach our work with boredom, apathy, and dispassion, that’s likely to be what we will cultivate in those we seek to serve.