We owe nothing to our personal history; we are not in its debt.

It offers to us a broken and imperfect gift.

That gift, however, is modular. We can choose parts to keep and parts to discard.

All of it — the good and the bad — is told though our own narration.

When the story does not serve us well, we can choose to tell a better story. We can read from the pages that have been written, or we can begin again.

A blank sheet of paper awaits. It can be the next page of an existing novel, or the first page of a new story.

The choice is ours to make.

Everyone likes to see a win in the books. But in the long run, a lot of things are more important than the stats.

Things like playing as a team. Staying sharp. Practicing skills. Improving. Learning resilience. Having fun.

The official record doesn’t tell the story of us growing into our best selves.

Said another way: we’re much more than the numbers that fill the rows and columns.

When we expect microwave performance from slow cooker situations, we’re likely to be frustrated.

Events can turn quickly, but life mostly unfolds slowly. Drip by drip. Day by day.

Staring at the slow cooker does not serve us well.

So let’s ignore the pot — trust that it’s doing its thing — and let’s be engaged with the present. Fully alive and bringing our best selves to what’s happening right now.

I was in a Zoom meetup with eight people yesterday. One person said, “I feel a little vulnerable mentioning this, but ... ”

What followed was an engaging conversation that resonated deeply with most of the callers. Her willingness to be vulnerable created space for a beautiful discussion.

It’s probably a coin toss whether she was going to bring up the topic or keep it to herself.

Thankfully, she shared.

* * *

Brené Brown famously speaks and writes about the power of vulnerability.

It makes for excellent TED talk material, but it’s even more magical when you see firsthand what doors vulnerability can unlock.

Every organization has a head and a heart. Often, those are separate groups. Separate people.

Some advice for the head: know the heart and tend to its needs.

My five-year-old son learned how to ride a bicycle during the early stages of the pandemic. Now, he’s well-balanced and interested in knowing his limits.

He asked if we could ride our bikes to the local middle school.

“There are lots of hills there! I want to test my ‘brave power’ going down the hills and my ‘strong power’ going up the hills.”

I love how eager he is to put his new skills to the test. To operate within reason, but to find the edges of his capability.

As adults, how often do we test our own limits with such excitement?

How often are we focused on the marks left by a red pen?

I can easily recall tests and term papers that were returned marked-up with errors and comments. They never came back with all my correct answers highlighted; the focus was always on what was wrong.

* * *

How often are we preoccupied with our mistakes? How often do we lament the gap between where we landed and where we had aimed? At day’s end, do we reflect upon what we’ve done well, or the places we’ve come up short?

What happens when we instead focus on our successes? What happens when we just highlight the good?

* * *

Today, you’re the student and the instructor. Toss the red pen. See what happens.

The wooden peg was small — barely more than an inch in length — yet the sun caught it in such a way that its shadow spanned the length of the wall.

* * *

We may be small in the grand scheme of things. We might not have significant status, money, or power.

But given the right circumstances, we might have influence. We might be seen and our presence might be far larger than our size would suggest.

At the right moments, we might even be people of great consequence in the world.

If you’re going to give yourself time off, do it. If you’re going to relax, then relax.

All. The. Way.

For however long you’ve decided to do it, live in that moment. Do it intentionally.

There’s no sense in spending your downtime feeling anxious about work that you’re not doing.

When you’re relaxing, be a person who’s relaxed ... not a productive worker who’s failing.

If you need time to be lazy, be lazy ... not lazy and anxious.

Be on when you’re on, and off when you’re off. There’s time for each, so embrace each one fully.

Black Lives Matter.

Some support the movement. (I do.)

Some are leading the movement.

Some are unsure of the movement’s meaning.

Some are nervous about supporting the movement, or even saying that they do.

Some are scared of the movement itself.

And yes, some are fighting against the movement.

Wherever we are on the spectrum, the onus is upon each of us to be educated. Or to become educated. Not to have answers, but to have questions and to be truth seekers. To be empathetic students of history who seek to cultivate emotional intelligence and who fight to right the wrongs of our past and present.

This isn’t someone else’s problem to solve; it’s ours.

And if we don’t think there are problems ... well, that’s a problem right there.

Do we watch and judge, or spectate and cheer?

In many situations, we have an option. We can choose which persona to adopt.

Will we bring our judgement — quietly critiquing?

Or will we bring our enthusiasm — audibly encouraging?

Sometimes, light tapping at the door isn’t enough; an assertive knock is what’s need.

Or consider the Heimlich maneuver: merely pressing below the diaphragm won’t save someone’s life; it requires a significant thrust.

And “not being racist” isn’t enough either. Our call is to be unequivocally anti-racist.

The point here is that there are moments in time when action is required — firm, intentional, directed action.

Being a good person and having kind thoughts is not enough to solve the evils of racism, injustice, and poverty. Taking action is what’s necessary ... and “taking action” means something different for each of us.

The problems of the world need our attention. We cannot solve them through hope and warm wishes.

So what will we do?

And more importantly — based on the future you seek to create — what will you do?

British playwright Sir Alan Ayckbourn was interviewed about releasing his unproduced play as an audio drama. It’s a way to put his work into the world while theaters and venues are temporarily closed. Ayckbourn and his wife, actress Heather Stoney, played all eight parts and recorded the work in their home studio.

I love this kind of resilience amidst constraint. Two artists’ insistence to be creative within a new and changing landscape.

About the experience, Ayckbourn remarked, “It’s a curious time and it will get curiouser.”

The phrase resonated.

“It’s not too late to change your mind.”

We hear this phrase before someone is about to undergo elective surgery. Or before they do something brave and dangerous. Or before they’re about to do something that may be irreversible.

But even outside of these cinematic moments, the phrase holds.

History. Racism. Discrimination. Poverty. Injustice.

What we know and what we believe about these topics — where we’re educated and where we’re ignorant — can be changed.

We can read. We can learn. We can suspend our prejudices.

More than anything, we can be better listeners. We can open our eyes.

Why? Because it’s not too late to change your mind.

Young or old. Powerful or weak. It’s not too late. We can change.

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.