“We took away the complaint box, and we haven’t had a single complaint since!”

Just because we don’t hear complaints doesn’t mean everyone is happy. Silence is not an indicator of contentment.

Can we be brave enough to listen to honest feedback from those we seek to serve? Even to solicit such a response? And can we be humble enough to accept where we’ve gotten things wrong?

“You believed in me when everyone else did too.”

That phrase isn’t special or endearing.

* * *

Our greatest teachers and mentors are those who seek us out when we are in darkness. The people who see good in us where others don’t.

What’s beautiful about this kind of relationship is that it’s personal. It’s one to one.

Gurus and influencers gain followers by the millions, but meaningful connection does not exist at scale.

Seeing a diamond in the rough and putting faith in someone who has been overlooked — that happens one at a time, and any of us can do it.

If you’re going to apologize to your audience by saying something like, “Sorry this message is so long,” then before clicking “send” or before you deliver your address, check the text.

• Have you included extraneous information?

• Are you repeating what people already know?

• Is there a simpler way to say what’s needed?

• Is any of the messaging more about you and your ego, rather than what best serves the audience?

If any of these are true, then don’t apologize … or do the valuable work of editing.

Suggestion: choose the latter.

“Which finger can I bite for it to hurt the least?”

I heard someone use this phrase to refer to a situation where all the options were painful.

The words resonated. Sometimes, all we have are flawed choices, and it’s our job to pick the best, imperfect path.

Even if she loves to play the clarinet, even if first chair is sick … during a concert, the conductor’s job is to conduct. Not to play her favorite instrument, but to conduct the orchestra.

Regardless of our preferences, there are times when we are entrusted with a role. In those moments — particularly when it relates to leadership — the success of the group hinges on our willingness to step away from our preferences and to step into the role that we’ve been given.

When we’re not being creative — rather, when we’re not expressing our creativity — we experience discomfort.

There’s an unease that builds when we don’t attend to our inherent need to create.

We’re creative beings, but being creative is not enough; we have to do creative.

In ways that are unique to each of us, creativity seeks us as a conduit. Let it happen. Create the conditions for it to happen. Even if that flow is more of a trickle or a drip, let creativity have its way.

* * *

Creativity calls for expression. Actively help it when you can. And when you can’t, at least get out of its way.

Whatever you do, don’t stifle it.

New shoes. New car. New house. New membership. New tech.

For any of these things: is it comfort or convenience? Utility or façade?

There can be a lot of good reasons to get new things. But if it’s solely for show, how much is it going to cost you … to tell yourself the story that you want to hear?

Yesterday, my wife and I hiked around a local lake. It was an amazing, hour-long walk along a beautiful, wooded trail.

But ten minutes into the hike, we noticed something: we were walking really fast. This wasn’t our intention.

We laughed. We had blocked off a few hours. There was no need to rush; we had all the time we needed.

So we slowed down. We soaked in the moment.

An empty calendar does not a vacation make. More than anything, our frame of mind sets the stage for experiencing rest and connection.

If no one is asking for your advice, one of two things may be happening.

One, people don’t trust your expertise or judgement.

Or two, people don’t see you as someone who is willing to offer advice.

* * *

If you’re someone who seeks to help others, part of your role is to communicate that desire through your kindness, your generosity, and your commitment to being present to others and sensitive to their objectives.

At some point, someone you don’t like will get a lucky break. Undeserved, unearned fortune will land in their lap.

That’s a good time to remember that envy and resentment will do nothing to help you in your own journey.

Luck happens to everyone. Friends and enemies alike. Even to you, sometimes.

It might be better to stop thinking about luck and its unpredictability, and to instead consider the part of the equation where you don’t like a certain person.

For that, Abraham Lincoln offers us a useful starting point. He famously said, “I do not like that man. I must get to know him better.”

When we say, “Thanks for everything,” let’s really mean it.

Not just, “Thank you for when you’ve been perfect and contributed without error.”

But also, “Thank you for when you’ve made mistakes, because you’re learning and getting better.”

And, “Thank you for when you’ve succeeded, because you’ve shown me what achievement can look like.”

And, “Thank you for when you’ve hurt me, because you’ve helped me to overcome adversity.”

And, “Thank you for your sacrifice, because the world needs more selflessness.”

And, “Thank you for your imperfections, because I’m imperfect too.”

Let our “thank you for everything” truly encompass everything.

One of the friendliest encounters I had last week occurred as I was driving and someone nearly collided with me.

The other driver cut a turn tightly, nearly clipping me as I approached a stop sign.

In that split second, with an apologetic grimace, she waved as though to say, “Woah. I’m really sorry. I didn’t intend to negotiate the turn so dangerously.”

And in that same split second, I smiled and returned the wave as though to say, “No harm done! Glad we’re both OK.”

A small offense followed by a small act of forgiveness … resulted in a lasting cheerfulness.

We can’t expect our days to go by without fault or offense. How we navigate those moments — on both sides — helps determine the tone of the accompanying soundtrack.

When challenges arise, one thought might be, “I don’t need this.”

However …

Does the clay say, “I don’t need this,” when being squeezed by the potter?

Does the wood say, “I don’t need this,” when being sanded by the carpenter?

Does the dough say, “I don’t need this,” when being punched by the baker?

At times, life gives us seemingly unbearable challenges. But those experiences may be seasons of refinement.

Beauty and strength may be on the other side of discomfort and tears.

How does a person change by having an encounter with us?

Are they inspired? Emboldened? Anxious? Diminished? Encouraged? More at ease? More joyful?

Perhaps they’re not changed at all (though that’s unlikely).

Either way, if we’re not conscious of what it’s like to encounter us, we should be.

You can compare yourself to your friend. Or your neighbor. Or someone you follow on social media. Or the rich and famous.

But those paths deal in the currency of status, ego, and envy. And with endless variables — visible and invisible — those comparisons are not fair, or sensible, or even useful.

A better comparison is to you … from yesterday.

Are you keeping up with yourself? Maybe doing fractionally better? Good for you. Keep your focus.

Don’t worry about besting others. Try to best yourself.

Convenient. Easy. Simple. Economical. Available. Popular.

We seek these things all the time.

But when are we strong enough to choose “right” over these things? Sometimes it’s one or the other. Right, but not convenient. Right, but not easy. Right, but not popular.

As consumers and citizens, we we often choose from a long list of options that are cheap, easy, and comfortable. But when those options conflict with what’s right, when do we choose right?

Can we be uncomfortable for the sake of good? Can we be so bold in service of what’s right?

Dream about the life you want to have. Envision it. See it. Imagine its beautiful details.

But don’t forget to shift into gear.

Our dreams don’t burst into reality on their own; they’re drawn forth — little by little — through our intentional acts.

* * *

And if you’re already living your dream, then you don’t need to call upon your imagination, and you don’t need to shift gears. You can just look around with a spirit of gratitude, and soak it all in.

Sometimes we voice the thought — specifically or generally, “I don’t know if I can do this.”

And that may be true. We might not know.

But where we lack certainty in outcomes, we can have confidence in our ability to try.

So we amend the initial thought: “I don’t know if I can do this … but I do know I can try, and I’ll give it my all.”

The narrator that foretells failure is fluent, detailed, and certain. It’s easy to get drawn into the story.

“If I screw up this meeting, I’ll lose my job, and … well … I might never find work again. That will cause my marriage to fall apart and then my friends will abandon me. I’ll never get back on my feet, and I’ll die alone and penniless.”

It puts a lot of pressure on that one meeting. But that’s the only hook the narrator needs to weave together a seamless story of disaster.

Life doesn’t really work like this. When we err, we don’t enter free-fall; it’s more like falling forward as we walk uphill. Maybe we slip. Maybe we look foolish. But we’re still on the hill, and we can still get up and get back to climbing.

So listen to the other narrator. The one that speaks of possibility and purpose. She can be quiet at times, and less likely to be certain of her predictions, but she’s more likely to be right … and she intimately knows our greatest potential.

If you’re backpacking, at some point, you stop to set up camp for the night.

To soldier on without rest — whether out of determination or out of joy for the journey — is not sustainable forever.

Without stopping to prepare for the evening, you’ll eventually find yourself exhausted and asleep on the trail.

Rest — and preparing for rest — is part of a natural, healthy cycle. Don’t fight it. Make it a welcome part of the journey. And just like everything else, try to do it well.