The problem might be that your studio is too shallow: there’s not enough space behind you.

And the thing to do is to back up. To step away from the easel. To create distance between you and the work.

And then … to look at what you have with fresh eyes.

(This practice can also be applied to painting.)

One of the wonderful things about walking is that you can’t take all the steps at once. It just doesn’t work that way.

Even when you see the entire length of the journey ahead, you never feel the overwhelm of thinking you need to take all the steps at once. The steps come one after the other, the way they always do. We understand and accept this.

It helps when we can bring this kind of practical patience to the rest of our lives.

Step by step. As if we were walking.

“This call may be recorded for quality purposes.”

Fine. You’re going to record this, and legally, you have to let me know.

But I’d love to hear instead, “This call may be delightful for quality purposes.”

Of course, this will soon create a problem: you’ll attract more customers.

(A good problem to have.)

“Woah. Amazing! Look at this!!!”
“Oh. Um … Uh-huh.”

We are naturally curious. Naturally inspired. Naturally filled with wonder and awe.

But over time, we learn to protect that. To hold it close to ourselves.

It just takes a few experiences of a child revealing a passionate interest to a disinterested peer group.

Or a person explaining a creative pursuit to an unreceptive audience.

And then we hesitate to share when we’re inspired.

Or worse, we hesitate to even be inspired.

Resist this.

You were born to love. To fall in love. To be deeply interested in the things that deeply interest you.

While you’re not alone in your interests, it can sometimes feel lonely.

But don’t let that stop you.

Love what you love.

There’s a kaleidoscope whose viewport is all your own. Delight in it.

I’m not where I am because of my own hard work.

I’m where I am because of my own hard work …

… and because of people who believed in me

… and because of people who took risks in giving me a chance

… and because of love

… and because of luck.

* * *

We can’t control luck, but we can choose to help others … which is kind of like creating a little bit of luck in someone else’s life.

The spirit that opens the door is not always the same spirit that carries us across the threshold.

The spirit that sees opportunity is not always the same spirit that takes action.

The spirit that listens is not always the same spirit that hears.

The spirit that begins is not always the same spirit that continues, and not always the same spirit that finishes.

Overheard recently: “How long is the CPR class? Ugh. I hope it’s short.”

* * *

Should one of us ever need CPR, I hope we’re helped by someone who didn’t mind taking the full, in-depth course.

Sometimes, knowing the material matters a lot more than having the certificate.

As an artist, there can be tension between my love of creativity, and my desire to keep a tidy house — along with raising uninjured, generally non-chaotic kids.

These words are gentle reminders to myself.

From Lady Allen of Hurtwood — advocate of adventure playgrounds for children:

“Better a broken bone than a broken spirit.”

And from astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson, who implores us to embrace children’s curiosity. That their curiosity (provided it does not kill them) is worth the extra work, cleanup, and mending.

“Kids are sources of chaos and disorder. … They are experimenting with their environment. Everything is new to them.”

“You don’t have kids with the intent of retaining a clean house.”

I’m still learning to embrace the disorder.

That mud puddle? [cringe]

Go. Go jump in it.

How often do we pause to consider whether “something is there” that merits deeper reflection or investigation?

Why do I act this way?

Why does this certain thing annoy me so much?

Why do I keep coming back to this particular thought?

Why am I putting off doing that thing?

Is there something there? Is something under the surface that needs some attention, some understanding, some healing, or some closer looking?

Step one is to notice.

Step two is to look closer to see if there’s something there.

A friend of mine asks the question: “Is it in the circle?”

What she means by this is, “What’s non-negotiable?” Which tasks, habits, and responsibilities are you going to prioritize, no matter what?

For instance: even on a rainy day, when the schedule has gone pear-shaped and you’re in a bad mood — if you have a child waiting to be picked up after school … you collect the child. It’s non-negotiable. It’s within the circle.

• Tending to animals

• Exercise

• Hygiene

• Meditation

• Prayer

• Creative practices

• Homework

• …

Maybe in the circle, maybe not. What’s non-negotiable in your life? What will you do, even when you’re sick, or tired, or you just don’t feel like it?

Knowing what’s in the circle (and what’s not) helps clarify what’s important to us. And it helps us to be easy on ourselves, too. It didn’t get done? Understandable: it’s not in the circle.

However, if there are things we truly want to be doing — that we aren’t actually doing — we’d be wise to place them in the non-negotiable category.

If it matters, make it matter. Bring it into the circle.

H/T: Allegra

You’re flying the plane and each of your commitments gets a seat.

When you’re oversold (you’ve said “yes” to too many things) it’s not likely that your extra passengers will be standing in the aisles.

It’s more likely that they’ll be vying for seats that are already occupied.

Meaning: everyone on board will suffer.

There are many worthy causes, but the plane you’re flying has a limited number of seats. When you’re booked solid, saying “no” to new requests is out of respect for the ticketed passengers.

Every so often, I’ll get an email from LinkedIn that says something like this:

“Stephen, you’re getting noticed. Your profile is looking great! Your work and accomplishments are being recognized. [Click here to] see who’s looking.”

Garbage.

Malarkey.

Hooey.

I’m not knocking LinkedIn as a professional networking tool. But messages like this are no better than click-bait.

And automated flattery is as gross as it is disingenuous.

There’s power in placebo … and in the kind of praise that puts us in the mindset to be our best.

But this is not that.

Keep a watchful eye for false positives. Someone snooping a social platform is not the same as being recognized for your good work, and “views” and “likes” — for better or worse — do not necessarily show the reach of your impact.

If you don’t know what brings you joy, satisfaction, and fulfilment … you’ll end up chasing what other people are chasing.

If you fail at this endeavor, you’ll be in the company of others who have failed — sharing in their disappointment.

But if you succeed like others, there’s no guarantee you’ll share in their happiness — after all, it was someone else’s dream you were chasing.

* * *

The most worthy race to run is your own.

When you’re facing a risk/reward situation, you have to know your miss.

That is, if things go awry, how bad might it be?

Knowing your miss helps you to judge whether the risk is worthwhile. When we take a step back, we may find that we’re too worried — that we should just go for it. Other times, we may discover that we’re being reckless in what we’re planning to do.

But knowing our miss — our tendencies and our typical errors — helps in the calculation.

* * *

If you’re like me, and you’ve recently tried to impress your kindergartener by kicking a soccer ball over a barn (and you didn’t consider that an errant kick would go thorough a split-rail fence, down a steep, snow-covered field, over a drop off, and toward a stream) then you’ve had twenty minutes of snow-trudging to consider risk/reward, and how one might learn from such experiences.

In the fire you’re fighting, do you need more water, or do you need more firefighters?

And are you sure you’re dealing with a wildfire … not a controlled burn?

(Not every fire needs fighting.)

The critics are out there, ready to rain on your parade.

You can spend a lot of time inside, hiding from the rain, ensuring that you stay dry.

Or you can layer up so that you’re waterproof.

But the more useful thing to do is to get comfortable with being wet. Then, you always get to play … rain or shine.

It sounds so horrible, doesn’t it? To strike out?

What a sinking feeling. What a gut punch. As if there will never again be joy in Mudville.

But there are always more at-bats.

And if not, then there are more games.

And if not, then there are more seasons.

And if not, then there are new chapters, new adventures, new interests, and new endeavors.

Striking out is an event, not a permanent condition.

It’s much easier to say, “I don’t have what I need to do what I need to do,” than it is to say, “This is what I need so that I can get to work.”

When we say, “I’m lacking resources,” or “I’m lacking information,” then it’s not our fault. We’re at the mercy of a broken system, or of someone’s indecision, or of bad luck.

But when we specify what we need — and voice it aloud — we risk actually getting those things. And then we’re on the hook. And that can be scary … because then it’s all on us.

So often, we want others to learn their lesson. To face consequences for their actions. To get their comeuppance. Serves them right.

But for ourselves, we want grace, understanding, empathy, compassion, and forgiveness.

What happens when we flip that around? When we seek to learn from our own missteps — even if the lessons are difficult and humbling — and when we are kind to others in their mistakes?

I was working through a complex problem with a colleague.

After two days of planning, we came to a realization: we were overthinking things.

We paused to ask ourselves, “What’s the problem we’re trying to solve? No. What’s really the problem we’re trying to solve?”

Once we took a step back, we found clarity, and the best path forward was apparent.

The funny thing is, we couldn’t have started at the point where things were clear. We had to work our way through the muddy waters until the silt settled.