I had an excellent customer experience with an auto mechanic yesterday. Afterward, I considered why it was such a positive encounter. It came down to specific things being communicated to me:

• I notice what you notice.

• I agree that there’s a problem.

• I agree that we can fix the problem.

• I agree that we should fix the problem.

• I promise to take timely, appropriate action.

It’s a clear progression, and I can see how the whole thing falls apart when certain elements are missing.

There are times when people don’t see what we see. Or they do — to an extent — but they don’t think it’s a problem. Or they agree that things need to be fixed, but they aren’t willing to do anything about it. Or they do a lot of head nodding and agreeing but fail to take action.

When all of it comes together, however, the result is happy customers, improved relationships, and a forward ratchet in the culture.

As often as we turn on lights to find clarity, sometimes it’s the darkness that makes visible what we truly need to see.

Darkness does not equal blindness. At times, it can be the opposite.

Are you working on the frosting when you haven’t yet learned how to bake the cake?

Or are you perfecting the garnish before you’ve done the work of crafting the meal?

The delicious coating is an important part. And the pretty stuff is delightful. Both can get you a lot of attention and praise, but neither one is where we begin.

I’ve intermittently fasted intermittently. :)

This month, I’ve gotten back into the practice, and I eat between noon and eight o’clock at night.

Sometime late in the morning, I’ll notice myself feeling hungry. Not ravenous, but definitely hungry.

It’s an interesting feeling — to feel hunger, to sit with it, and to not act.

We live in a culture of immediate gratification and over-consumption. Something changes when we hold a craving at bay. Or rather, when we hold it closely. Experiencing it. Understanding it. Noting how it affects our focus.

Intermittent fasting has drawn my attention not only to physical hunger, but to intellectual, social, and emotional hunger too. How quickly do I seek relief? How mindlessly do I “snack”? How often do I binge? And to what end?

For me, sitting patiently with hunger allows me to consume with more mindfulness, intention, and joy. In all areas.

What are you consuming? And more importantly, how are you doing it?

At our local library, the staff knows my daughter by name. She’s not particularly outgoing and she doesn’t make a scene. No, they know her because she’s polite, she shows up consistently, and she always borrows a pile of books.

Where we’re known by name can tell us a lot about who we are and what’s important to us.

Following the recent storming of the U.S. Capitol Building, trash and debris littered its halls. One lawmaker, in the middle of the night, spent an hour and a half helping clean up the mess. He didn’t do it for publicity, but images of the act have been shared widely.

Later, in an interview, Rep. Andy Kim said, “I was just really affected emotionally. I felt this kind of heightened, kind of supercharged kind of patriotism that I just felt take over.”

He added, “When you see something you love that’s broken you want to fix it.”

I don’t know about Kim or his politics, but the quiet and meaningful act of cleaning up — and its symbolism — resonated deeply. Sometimes the smallest acts are what express the most love.

[ where I first read about this ]

Yesterday, a technical glitch kept my blog from reaching subscribed readers’ inboxes at its usual time. The post was on my site, but emails were delayed.

I write this in gratitude for those of you who reached out to check-in.

It means the world to me to know that my work is appreciated and that it would be missed if it didn’t continue. Thank you for that.

And if you enjoy reading this blog, will you please consider telling a few people? It seems odd to use the word “please” but I don’t feel right asking without it.

New readers can subscribe to the daily email, or they can just visit the website every so often.

Until next time (which is always tomorrow) … be well!

There’s a balance between being direct and communicating friendliness. Between barking orders and asking apologetically. Between making an assertion and couching statements with disclaimers.

“Watch out!” can be shouted without prelude. No throat-clearing is necessary.

“Your solution failed,” could be a statement in truth, but there are times when its edges merit softening.

Are you speaking to a colleague? A child? A student? A professional? A volunteer? A hobbyist?

What’s the context? What’s the situation? What’s your intention?

There’s a time for being direct, and there’s a time to ease into the crux.

I read a group email today that began, “It appears as though I wasn’t clear.” Either the writer wasn’t clear, or people didn’t follow directions. Here, I could have done without the passiveness.

The advice is two-fold. One, at the appropriate times, be direct. Don’t hem and haw about what should be said plainly. And two, soften edges where it helps, but do it judiciously. Particularly in writing, look back a the text and ask, “Am I being gentle in using these extra words, or am I bubble-wrapping a phrase that should be served on a platter?”

Are you hiding?

Do you keep some of your best work a secret because you’re afraid of being rejected?

For sure, there are some that will reject your passionate efforts. But maybe they’re right; maybe it’s not for them.

But what about the people it is for? The people you could be serving?

Maybe you’re afraid. But it might be that you’re worried about the wrong group of people. Haters will hate; it’s what they do. The disinterested will ignore you; they can’t be bothered. But would others embrace you? Would they gratefully be fed by your work?

There’s one way to find out.

“There’s nothing new under the sun.”

This phrase — from Hebrew scripture — has become part of the culture.

It’s easy to toss around with an air of cynicism. “Not new. Been done. Unoriginal.”

So for the creative, this can feel like a burden. Why create when it’s all been done before?

But there’s another way of seeing this: it’s a gift. Since nothing is new, we have no pressure to be original. We can recreate. We can be influenced. We can be inspired. We can rhyme with what has come before. We can add our voice to the ever-growing symphony of human creativity.

Despite nothing new under the sun, our creativity persists.

Jimi Hendrix’s “All Along the Watchtower” is a Bob Dylan song. Donatello created marble and bronze versions of David long before Michelangelo’s time. There were a half-dozen search engines competing for market share when Google was developed.

Whether anything is new or not … it doesn’t really matter. At our core, we’re creators, makers, innovators, and inventors. Sometimes we fail, but sometimes we make things surprisingly better.

When we have a lot on our plate, the easiest thing to do is to work a little harder for a little longer.

If I can work one more hour a day, then every week, I’ve gained an extra seven hours of productivity.

Why not make it two extra hours a day? Fourteen more hours is very tempting. I could do a lot with that time.

But this game has a limit. At some point, decision-making faculties diminish. Energy levels tank. Fatigue wins.

* * *

Noteworthy: Jeff Bezos sleeps eight hours a day.

This isn’t because he’s asleep at the wheel. It’s because he knows that Jeff Bezos doesn’t scale well. There’s a limit to what he can do. He has teams of managers that he trusts, and he focuses on the big decisions that matter most. And he makes sure he’s well-rested enough to make those big decisions.

Yes, there are times when we sprint. Times when we have to burn the midnight oil. Times when we’ve got to dig in and sacrifice some sleep.

But in the long run — whether we’re a solopreneur or managing a multi-billion dollar company — we need a sustainable rhythm that includes enough self-care to keep us healthy and at our best.

You’re no more “bad at art” than you are “bad” at thinking.

Perhaps you don’t have certain skills. You can acknowledge that if you want.

If you feel the need to say, “I cannot make drawings that look like photographs,” you can say that. If you want.

If you feel the need to say, “I do not know how to use watercolors,” go for it. If you want.

But what you really mean is that you haven’t learned how to use certain tools. Or that you haven’t discovered how to put to canvas what you see with your eyes. Or to music what you hear in your head.

What’s possible, too, is that you haven’t created enough bad work to figure out how to make good work.

If you’re inclined to be creative, go be creative. Be curious. Make something. Create something. Get out of your own way and try something that might not work. Learn, and do it again.

But don’t say you’re bad at art.

January is often about goal-setting, resolutions, and to-do lists.

Suggestion: create a “stop doing” list. As much as we create lists of things to do, the list of things we should stop doing is just as important. Maybe even more important.

Attitudes, habits, and thought patterns that aren’t serving us well … let’s minimize or eliminate them.

In becoming your best self — whatever you’ve decided to start or stop — the best time isn’t “soon”. It’s now.

Most of us are happy that one is over. 2020 was the year we didn’t expect. Filled with tragedy, pain, strife, and frustration. A wave of disappointment.

But it was also a year filled with resilience and new beginnings. A year when we figured out a way forward. When we connected more intentionally. When the best of us kept at it — finding a way to work through exhaustion — so that everything didn’t fall apart completely.

If we’re ready to start a new year with a fresh mindset, it’s ready for us. That opportunity was here yesterday, too, but yesterday is in the books. We’ve got today. Tomorrow, if we’re lucky.

Let 2021 be the year where we bring our best selves to our best work. The time is now.

Here’s to peace, justice, good health and creativity. Plenty of laughter too.

I can’t wait to see what we’ll do together.

Be brave enough to learn about your blind spots. Ask, “What am I not seeing?” Listen to those trusted voices that are willing to show you what you cannot see for yourself.

The thing about blind spots is that we will always have them; there’s no way to eliminate them forever.

But we can be conscious of their existence, and we can know to ask for help in learning about them.

What are you not seeing today? Who can help you to see it?

Twice recently, I’ve made small errors because I didn’t follow my own notes.

“Cut stretcher and glue here.” (I didn’t cut. I didn’t glue.)

“Shopping list item: sixteen #12 x 1/2" sheet metal screws.” (I returned home without the screws.)

These were minor flubs with minimal cost, but it made me think: how many times do we err simply because we don’t follow our own notes?

How often do we have the answers in-hand, but fail to reach for them at the right time?

Even worse: how many of our mistakes are from us not sticking to our own principles?

Taking notes is an important practice, but the bigger part is knowing when to revisit them.

My website is built using Squarespace. I’ve tweaked the code in lots of small ways, but the foundation of the site — and its design — is a Squarespace template.

Here’s what I value: all the default design choices that Squarespace offers are good choices. The platform is built with thoughtful constraints in mind; whether you’re an expert or not, you can put together a website that looks professional.

The experience is akin to, “Here are six different ingredients. Choose one. Any of the six will work well; it’s just a matter of preference.”

This is in contrast to other tools and environments where the user has an infinite number of choices. Those open-ended workspaces are perfect for designers who have good taste — not so good for a layperson who wants to build something but who doesn’t have the skills or judgement to know what will work and what won’t.

* * *

Generous design: creating systems and platforms that afford creativity, but also set high-percentage odds that users will end up with something that works well.

I paused in front of a stained glass window — one that I had passed more than a hundred times.

This time, I paused longer than usual.

I looked. Really looked.

Had you asked me about this window, from memory I’d have said it was pretty. Colorful, too.

I’d have had little recollection about its design, or the condition of the solder, leading, or etchings.

Turns out, this particular window isn’t in the best shape. There are modifications. Some strange repairs.

Many areas are significantly worn.

And yet …

Old, but beautiful.

Worn, but compelling.

Imperfect, but wonderful nonetheless.

It seems to me that there’s a lot I can learn from this.

Pause to ask yourself, “What’s the problem I’m solving?”

Is it personal? Is it self-indulgent?

If we’re not careful, the problems we end up solving (naturally) become increasingly selfish. I’m hungry. I want attention. I need to be entertained. I seek status.

What’s surprising is that the more we work to solve these problems for others, the more they’ll be solved for ourselves.

When we work to serve the needs others, we soon find many of our own needs fulfilled.

One house: same Christmas lights, same lawn decorations … every year.

Another house: always something new. A new design. A new look. A new show.

Our family enjoys both displays. It’s an annual tradition to drive by each house. But our expectations are different.

For the one, we look forward to seeing what’s familiar. For the other, we expect to be surprised with something we haven’t seen.

* * *

In our own creative practices, does our audience look for the same? Or do they delight in the unexpected?

Both are viable paths, but they’re not the same.

As creators and makers, we need to be clear about which path we’ve chosen. Are we making facsimiles of our previous work? Or are we inventing what’s new and untested?

It may change from time to time, but our answer largely depends on the needs and expectations of those we seek to serve.