Ultra-marathoner Dean Karnazes writes, “Somewhere along the line we seem to have confused comfort with happiness.”

How accurate. So often, we seek comfort. But it’s not the same as happiness. And when we’ve made that mistake in thinking — and we layer comfort upon comfort — we ultimately find ourselves disappointed and wanting.

The comfort does not bring lasting happiness or satisfaction.

Struggle and discomfort serve a purpose. Leaning into that suffering — even deliberately challenging ourselves physically, mentally, and creatively — can lead to rewards that comfort cannot provide.

My wife playfully asked my kindergarten son, “When you get bigger, will you still give me hugs?”

He looked her in the eyes, replying as though the answer was quite obvious: “Yes. I’ll just give you bigger hugs.”

For however it translates to your life, let’s all try to keep giving bigger hugs.

There are a lot of details to consider. Mostly science and a little bit of art. But if things aren’t done properly, people will die.

Packing a parachute is a consequential operation.

Yet all that control is a set-up for a freefall — followed by a deployment and a more controlled descent.

Control and freedom. A balance of the two. A dance.

Sometimes process and constraint are exactly what set the stage for exhilarating freedom.

In the spirit of politeness and healthy boundaries, we’re careful to not overstep.

But that hesitation can be worth examining. Sometimes what we think is overstepping might just be speaking the truth. Or standing up for what’s right. Or giving good, welcome advice.

Overstepping can happen. But sometimes it’s not stepping over. Sometimes it’s stepping in the right direction.

* * *

In some situations, turning on the lights is just the thing to do. And while fresh light can bring clarity, there are times when the shift from darkness will be awkward and uncomfortable.

Just like waking up, it might take a moment for our eyes to adjust.

Many of the problems we have arise from choosing the wrong math operator in a given situation.

We add instead of subtracting.

Or we multiply instead of dividing.

Or we make another substitution.

Do we have a default choice? Is it skewing our decisions?

Next time you think “I need more of x” take a moment to consider whether “less of y” is a better option.

I used to think the phrase “First Annual” was silly.

If it’s the first, it’s the first; there’s nothing annual about it … yet.

But I’ve come to appreciate the optimism that’s baked into a “first annual” event.

When an event is billed as a first-annual, its organizers are saying, “We believe in this idea so much, we’re already planning to make it happen every year.”

I like that.

Go ahead. Lean forward.

Plan something worth repeating.

Beautiful, ex officio.

Capable, ex officio.

Creative, ex officio.

Remarkable, ex officio.

You’re a human, and that brings along with it a wealth of positive attributes.

Knowing who you are is important. Knowing what that means is even better.

Steph Curry misses shots; he’s not 100 percent.

But his team doesn’t ask him to stop taking shots just because he misses a few.

No. They ask him to keep taking shots.

* * *

You’re not going to succeed every time. You’re not always going to win. You might even go through a slump. But note the word: through a slump. You don’t end there.

Keep taking shots.

Maybe you’ve heard the phrase: Don’t bring a knife to a gunfight.

Well, don’t bring tentative brush strokes to a big, blank canvas.

Don’t bring a whisper to an expansive stage.

Don’t bring tenuous hopes to a fresh season.

And don’t bring small dreams to your bright future.

Be bold. Be confident. (And try to avoid actual gunfights when possible.)

While our voice is always ours, it’s not always the same. In writing and in speaking, we get to choose the version we call upon.

The voice of the counselor is not the same as the storyteller.

The announcer is not the same as the lover.

The supervisor is not the same as the friend.

The exact style doesn’t quite matter as much as, “What does this remind me of?”

When the voice we choose rhymes with the wrong genre, it can be at the expense of our effectiveness … or at worst, it can communicate the opposite of what we intend.

We have options. Choose thoughtfully.

Usage of the word “hereby” has declined over the past 100 years. Probably a good thing.

But there’s value in its meaning: by this statement or action.

Since we’re forward-leaning and optimistic, we often talk about plans for the future. And yet there are some things that can be made so just by beginning.

No waiting. No stalling. Making the change happen now.

Are you bold enough to take any “hereby” actions today?

I had a heavy piece of equipment delivered to the workshop yesterday. The driver used a hand cart to bring it from the truck to the door, but that’s as far as the cart could go. We had to move it by hand from there.

As I lifted one side, the driver said, “Let’s slide it.”

Dragging and pushing the 350-lb. box was a bit easier, but I liked the idea of lifting because it was quieter, frictionless, and more controlled.

I did it his way.

Afterwards, I thought about it. For me, this was a one-time event. I was excited about the arrival of a tool, and I wouldn’t mind some heavy lifting to get the thing through the door.

For the driver, it was different. He had a half-dozen deliveries that day … like every day. Lifting — even for just a few feet — is risky. Lifting is harder. Lifting isn’t a long-term strategy. For him, sliding works better. It’s a sustainable method.

This delivery was a good lesson in seeing one of the many differences between, “I’m doing this today,” and, “I do this every day for a living.”

Over-and-over will often call for a different approach than once-and-done.

As folks in our region begin to put away snow blowers and pull out lawn mowers, I recall the particularly snowy day my neighbor cleared our sidewalk.

I caught him to say thank you (this wasn’t the first time he’d been kind in this way).

“Oh, it only takes a minute,” he said.

True, it was probably just a few minutes of work using his machine, but it transformed my day. Six inches of snow, gone. Like magic.

Often, just a minute of our own time can bring disproportionate returns for someone else.

Small, selfless acts. Huge effect.

There’s no down-side to that kind of generosity.

Last week, I saw a woman plunging a bedding fork into a giant pile of mulch. She was smiling. Not a little smile, but a great big smile.

Why was she so happy?

Was she feeling grateful? Had she thought of a joke? Had she just received good news? Just seen a friend? Maybe she loves yard work. Or she’s pain-free for the first time in weeks.

I’m not sure why she was smiling and I love the mystery in that.

But I also appreciate seeing someone expressing such joy in the middle of a laborious task. There’s something valuable to glean from that.

My three children sometimes forget: more than presents, more than cards, more than flowers … being kind is what matters. Being thoughtful. Being responsible. Being a good listener.

They ask, “What can we get Mom for Mother’s Day?”

I try to help them figure that out. But I also remind them that it’s not what you can get, or buy, or make.

It’s what you can be. Who you can be. How you can be.

Those are the gifts that matter most.

Where’s your shower? That place where you sing effortlessly and everything sounds perfect?

What happens when we place ourselves in situations where we feel confident? Where we can do our best work with a bit of moxie? How can we find more of those opportunities? How can we create more of those opportunities?

Here’s to bringing our shower songs to the word more often.

Silence is not always tacit approval.

Silence might mean no one is listening.

Or they’ve walked away from the conference call.

Or they don’t understand what’s going on.

When it matters, seek confirmation. Ask for a reply.

We witness greatness.

We touch greatness.

We visit greatness.

But we do not live there.

Why mention this? Because we don’t always show ourselves enough grace. We expect a lot of ourselves, and that’s good, but we can’t expect continuous peak performance. That’s not only an impossible feat, it’s an unhealthy goal.

But being our best? Being our best at the moment? We can always do that.

Sometimes our best is good. And sometimes, our best is within the realms of greatness.

Average, good, or great … our best is always sufficient.

I’ve always enjoyed the joke about the fisherman who keeps the small fish and throws the lunkers back into the water.

When a curious onlooker asks why he releases all the big fish, the angler replies, “I only have a ten-inch frying pan.”

* * *

Are we limiting ourselves by thinking small? Are we reluctant to chase our dreams?

Think big. Then go big. When the time comes that you need a bigger frying pan, you’ll be sure to find one.

Who are you?

Who do you think you should be?

Is there a difference?

If so, what will you do with that feeling?

And when will you begin?