There’s a blues standard written in the 1920s by Jimmy Cox called “Nobody Knows You When You’re Down and Out.” I know of it because of the great Eric Clapton rendition on his Unplugged album from 1992.

Here’s my favorite section:

Nobody knows you when you’re down and out.
In your pocket, not one penny ...
And as for friends, you don’t have many.
When you get back on your feet again,
Everybody wants to be your long lost friend.
I said it’s strange, without any doubt,
Nobody knows you when you’re down and out.

Part of it is perhaps true. When you’re low, people don’t seem to want to be around you.

But part of it has to do with the story we tell ourselves: that things are hard, and we’re alone, and our worth is based on our present circumstances.

And of course, we’re free to let go of that story and to tell ourselves a better one. One of present setbacks and brighter futures.

* * *

This daily blog isn’t a great source for blues lyrics, but singing the blues can be a good thing. Sometimes it’s helpful to have a release, and to let music carry us through the ups and downs of our struggles.

Here’s hoping you’re in a season where everybody wants to be your long lost friend.

If you’re a fielder in baseball, there are two critical parts to making a play: getting the ball, and then knowing what to do once you’ve got it.

That is, “what’s now?” and “what’s next?”

Catching the ball or stopping it from going past you — that’s step one. You’ve got to field it.

But immediately afterwards, you have to decide what to do.

Do you hold the ball? Tag a runner or a base? Or do you throw the ball to a teammate ... and to which one?

The best players not only make the initial play, they know what to do next. They see the field, and they know what needs to be done to achieve the team’s goals.

And here’s the parallel to daily life: it’s not enough to know what to do with what comes at us. Knowing what to do next — or confidently guessing — is critical.

If you want to practice, practice engaging in the act of doing what’s next. Make a play happen.

Do that consistently, and over time, you’ll become an MVP.

Kitchen knives don’t get dull all of a sudden; they dull slowly over time.

Then, one day you notice, “Huh. This thing isn’t very sharp.” And if you’re skilled and determined, you figure out how to sharpen a knife.

* * *

We can get dull over time, too. Our challenge is to make sure we’re staying sharp … and finding our equivalent of a mental whetstone when we realize that we’ve lost our edge.

And if we can make sharpening and honing a regular practice, even better.

An insightful friend asked me, “Are you growing in all the ways you want to right now?”

It’s the kind of question that calls for serious consideration.

Not just for me.

For all of us.

When we’re weighing options, a point comes when we need to stop collecting information and we need to take action.

More research will not help. Additional data points will not help.

The only thing left is to make a decision and to act accordingly.

An asterisk is used to append text, to note an omission, or to reference an annotation.

It’s a way of saying, “Here’s the story, but you need to know this other part, too, in order to fully understand.”

We also know that every event — every piece of truth — can be seen from multiple angles. And every moment in time is a small fiber woven into an endless fabric.

What does this mean? That every line of text that explains human history deserves an asterisk. And that the contextual annotations are deeper and more plentiful than the clean, simple lines they detail.

We simplify history to help teach young children. But we’re no longer young children and the complicated and nuanced footnotes deserve our attention.

When I hear my children shouting, most of the time, I’ll investigate.

Some of their reasons:

• They’re having fun

• They’re hurt (physically or emotionally)

• They’re frustrated

• They think things are unfair

• They need attention (they never have self-awareness of this one)

I suppose these reasons won’t change over time: adults are much the same way.

I spoke to a friend who wants to play and sing for an audience, but he’s hesitant. He feels intimidated by the “local guys in their sixties” who are really great players.

Guessing at my friend’s age, he has about 25 years to develop his skills. Then he can be one of those local guys in his sixties who’s a really great player.

Since he hasn’t developed those skills yet, the best thing for him to do is to start now.

If you don’t speak, you’ll never say the wrong thing.

* * *

The best way to avoid mistakes is to not do anything.

The irony is that “not doing anything” is often a mistake.

Some people will be reluctant to embrace your new idea.

But then again, some people just don’t like new things.

Their opinion isn’t based on the merits of your idea; it’s based on their resistance to change.

I came to a simple realization yesterday.

My heroes are not all about my heroes.

For as skilled and accomplished and celebrated as they are, they’re not interested in themselves; they’re much more interested in reflecting light on others and in helping others to grow.

At their heart, they’re teachers, mentors, educators, and coaches.

Selfless. Other-focused.

And servant-leaders — every one of them.

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.