For kids, it can be one of the best questions they’re asked: “Wanna play?”

It represents inclusion, friendship, fun, and possibility.

As adults, we have ways of tapping into that magic, too.

• “Hey. We’re going over here. Wanna come?”

• “I’m forming a group. Do you want to be a part of it?”

• “We’re all going to do this thing together. Are you interested?”

We don’t outgrow our need to belong or our desire to be invited.

But the questions don’t ask themselves. We need to actively seek out the others, and then voice our version of asking: “Wanna play?”

What assets do you own?

What can use, rent, or borrow?

Where do you have access?

What can you have if you just ask?

* * *

At times, we have what we need (or we can get it) but we’ve convinced ourselves that a few critical elements are still missing.

But that might not be true. We might have enough. More than enough, even.

So what’s holding you back?

In a drawing class years ago, I met a student from another university who had joined the course as an elective.

“I’m an Accounting major, but I thought I’d take a break and dabble around in drawing this semester.”

I replied, “What a coincidence! I’m an art major, but I thought I’d take a break and dabble around in Accounting this semester.”

* * *

At the time, ego determined my sarcastic mental response. “I take this seriously. Who are you to enter into my practice in such a casual and condescending way?”

Since then, my perspective has shifted. I embrace dabbling. Thrashing. Testing.

One person’s vocation is another person’s hobby. One person’s profession is another person’s weekend diversion.

Faced with a similar situation today, I’d reply, “That’s great! I can’t wait to see how your Accounting perspective influences the way you approach drawing.”

And I’d mean it, too.

Introversion and extroversion are not about whether we’re shy or outgoing. They’re about our sensitivity to stimulation and how our energy levels are affected by social interaction. Susan Cain offers a beautiful way of thinking about this (as relayed by Simon Sinek).

Introverts wake up in the morning with five coins. With every social interaction they spend a coin. At the end of the day, they feel depleted.

Extroverts wake up in the morning with no coins. With every social interaction they gain a coin. At the end of the day, they feel rich.

Not only is this a useful framework for understanding our own introversion or extroversion, it’s useful in better understanding our friends, family members, and colleagues.

“They make a great pizza. It’s amazing. Except on Thursdays; it’s terrible on Thursdays.”

That doesn’t work, does it?

We seek consistency.

And if we seek consistency, then we should seek to be consistent — consistent in our character, in our actions, in our work, in the way we show up for others — consistent. Even on Thursdays.

“If they [do that] I’m going to be so mad.”

Sometimes we choose our future-response to an uncertain future-situation.

But if we’re going to predetermine reactions, why not choose a response that will be useful?

Hint: anger is rarely a useful reaction.

A better approach is some form of, “This might not go the way I want it to. If that’s the case, here’s how I’m going to pivot ... based on my needs, and what I want to happen.”

Not nearly as succinct, but much more effective.

In a Zoom video conference, all the windows are the same size. Every participant is afforded the same amount of space.

What happens when we bring this kind of equality to more of our meetings and interactions?

Everyone seen. Everyone heard. Everyone able to contribute. Everyone valued.

A platform like Zoom sets the stage. It’s up to us to embrace the mindset.

Maybe the thing you’re trying to fix isn’t a bug.

Maybe it’s a feature.

And changing a feature is a much bigger challenge than fixing a bug.

Before you get too far along, it’s a good idea to figure out which kind of problem you’re facing.

If you’re going to wander, do it intentionally. Go explore. Notice things. Get lost, then find your way, then get lost again.

Be surprised. Delighted. Inspired.

But don’t wander accidentally. If you’re engaging in work that matters, don’t stroll into it and “see what happens.” Don’t wander when the workday begins or when your team offers you time and attention.

Wandering has its place, but it’s not in the work you do or in the change you seek to make in the world.

One would think that as smart as we are ... as educated, learned, advanced, and evolved ... that we wouldn’t need simple reminders.

But we do.

Our minds are filled with concepts, formulas, and facts, yet we so easily forget the simple things:

• You are valuable.

• Your contribution is important.

• You have choices.

• Failure is not permanent.

• There are people who love you.

This isn’t fluff. It’s as relevant as anything else you’ve highlighted, pinned, or bookmarked.

After you’ve reminded yourself of these things, it’s a good idea to remind someone else who may have forgotten too.

There are times when we are the authors. When we are a source. Times when something comes forth from us and into the world.

And there are other times when we are a conduit. Not the source, but a channel.

What is it that we’re allowing to work through us? How are we honoring that sacred role?

We’ve often heard the phrase, “time heals all wounds.”

Those with old, still-painful wounds may disagree.

But without doubt, time can offer perspective. And there is healing in perspective.

Time helps us to accept that we cannot change the past. It gently reminds us that what we have is now. And again, now. And yet again ... now.

And moment by moment, we continue.

Healing does not happen through the passage of time alone, but through our growing ability to tell the story of pain, hurt, and disappointment as a scene rather than a final chapter.

There’s a big difference between focusing on the present with, “What if I try this?” and focusing on the past with, “What if I had tried that?”

The first lives in the world of possibility and play. It embraces creativity. It explores all avenues.

The second lives in the world of regret. It uses creativity to invent paths that were never taken, and details of unchosen adventures.

* * *

The time to try, and consider, and experiment ... that time is now. Because the story that begins with “What if I had ... ” is a story that leaves the narrator painfully disheartened.

I cleaned some mold out of an air conditioning unit yesterday. The task reminded me of a few things:

• Just because something appears clean on the outside, it’s not necessarily clean on the inside.

• Sometimes, you have to disassemble something in order to get it in proper working order.

• It’s much easier to take something apart than it is to put it back together.

• Manual labor to put something right yields a good kind of tired.

Perhaps my biggest takeaway is this: if we’re seeking to learn, even simple chores can teach us lessons about life.

Too many times to count, I’ve been on a video conference call where someone begins to speak while the microphone is muted.

When this happens, someone else inevitably says, “You’re on mute!”

This is something we don’t notice ourselves. We don’t recognize that we’re not being heard. We just talk until someone points out the audio issue.

But who lets us know?

This question extends beyond video calls.

Who lets us know when we’re not being heard? Who is the thoughtful person who sees that we’re trying to communicate, who recognizes that there’s a problem with the transmission, and who helps us to see that an adjustment is necessary in order for our message to be delivered?

It’s a generous, albeit delicate role. But it’s a role we all have the capacity to play.

Even more, we can keep our ears sensitive to the voice of trusted guides when they notice that we’re not being heard by those we seek to serve.

What is the song that you’ve been singing? Not literally — figuratively.

Is it one of sorrow? Or hardship?

Regret? Gratitude? Joy? Love?

If the song you’ve been singing is no longer serving you, it may be useful to skip to the next track.

(You don’t even have to wait for the end of the refrain. You can skip right now.)

Professional golfers play in televised tournaments. What are they doing outside of those events?

Practicing. Six to eight hours a day ... on the course, on the driving range, on the putting green. Practicing.

Even with all that practice, pro golfers are not perfect. They still make errant shots. Despite having developed superior skills, they can’t eliminate risk and uncertainty from the game.

Knowing all of this, it’s amusing to see a casual weekend golfer become irate after missing a shot.

On one hand, the professional (who trains constantly) expects to make mistakes. On the other, the hobbyist (who practices infrequently if at all) expects perfection.

The point is not to lower our expectations — but to align our expectations with our preparation and effort.

Professionals can and should expect professional results. Hobbyists should expect to have some fun along with hobbyist results.

* * *

If we want to be exceptional in our fields of study, we don’t begin with performance. We begin with practice.

Consider your limits. Professionally, creatively, personally ...

What defines those boundaries? Is it the culture? Your circumstances? Your innate abilities?

Possibly.

But it’s also possible that over time, you’ve invented some false limits. Or maybe someone has invented them for you.

Go to the edge and gently test its substance. Poke your finger through. Then your arm.

You may find that the boundary is one you’ve invented ... and not a boundary at all.

It may be time for you to leap.

During the early stages of the pandemic, when my town was on stay-at-home orders, I started cutting my own hair. In figuring out how to do that, I read some advice from a stylist: 95 percent of what you see is from the front.

The statement prompted me to think of how this is true in a more general sense. We mostly see one angle. One perspective.

How valuable, then, are those who can help us to see what we cannot see on our own? Those who prompt us to turn our head a few degrees? Those who see our blind spots?

When we’re open to listening and learning from others, we get a much better perspective of the world as it is — not just what we see from the front.

When we falter, the “because” that we communicate can help others to understand what happened.

But it doesn’t turn back the clock and it doesn’t make things right.

When we say, “This happened because … “ what we’re really saying is, “There was a reason I made a mistake. A good reason. I’m asking for your understanding.”

Were you a victim of what you could not control? Maybe. After all, we’re all at the mercy of what we cannot control.

But instead of clinging to the “because” we might try saying, “I know why I screwed up. I understand how it happened and why. Here’s what I’m going to do next … ”