You can continue to chase the dangling carrot.

Or you can stop, form a plan, and figure out how to make a long pair of scissors that fit your rabbit paws.

When we’re working toward our goals, we have to be careful to know the difference between making progress, and just hopping around.

The best voice to find is your own.

You can mimic someone else’s voice. Emulate them. Work their style.

But you’ll forever need them as a model. You’ll look to them as a reference.

It’s hard to amplify that.

When you’ve instead discovered your own voice, you can lean into it as hard as you want. You can become more “you” without concern for whether you’re doing it right, or how you’re measuring against the standard.

When it comes to your own voice, you are the standard.

Find your voice. Coax it. Tend to it. Let the world hear it.

Let change happen because of it.

Judge the professional. They’ve signed up for it. It comes with the territory.

But not the amateur.

Love the humble amateur. The enthusiastic hobbyist. The one who dabbles without pretense.

The world is big enough for eager amateurs who are merely enjoying the craft. They’re not professionals and they don’t pretend to be. While they might touch upon professional quality from time to time, there’s no need to hold them to professional standards.

Just appreciate that they have interest.

Professionals, amateurs, hobbyists, and hacks … they each have their own intentions, and it’s okay to let everyone play whichever game they’re playing.

Once you’re inside, don’t forget to look out the window. Or even better, to look back at the doorway.

Who’s still trying to cross the threshold?

Who’s left in the cold? Who still hungers? Who still thirsts?

How can you help?

Whether it’s these actual physical needs, or it’s knowledge, creativity, community, or something else — once we find ourselves on the inside, let’s not forget that there’s enough to serve those who are still on the outside.

In a similar way, before we build structures to hold our surpluses, our job (as good humans) is to help those with empty hands.

This works as a metaphor, but it’s literal too.

Without exception, when I’ve told myself that I cannot do another pushup or pullup within a set, I am right.

“I can do one more,” is never a guarantee but, “I cannot do another,” has the immediate effect of making itself true.

Given this, then speaking possibility, confidence, and faith into ourselves is the only logical thing to do.

Is there daylight between what you believe about yourself and what you know about yourself?

What does it look like when that gap is closed?

Hundreds of dollars’ worth of toys and electronics at the ready. And what brought us together? What sparked laughter? What prompted movement, participation, surprise, and fun?

Keeping the balloon from touching the ground.

Sometimes deep satisfaction is found in simple activities where everyone is involved, there aren’t many rules, and no one keeps score.

When you have knowledge, how do you share it?

Do you drop it upon someone, such that they feel its enormity?

Do you hand it to them so that they must carry it?

Or do you lay it at their feet, that they might explore it, learn from it … and perhaps stand upon it to climb higher?

“God is in the details.”

“The devil is in the details.”

“The truth is in the details.”

“Success is in the details.”

Whatever you see as being in the details, it’s important to know which details matter.

The details upon which we fixate — how we judge them and the story we then tell — help create the foundation of who we are in this world.

Some saw an imperfect slab. A giant, but average-quality block of marble. A project that had been abandoned for a quarter century.

Michelangelo didn’t see it that way. In 1501, the 26-year-old sculptor saw what could be.

* * *

With which people do you choose to spend your time?

The kind who see a block of marble?

Or those who see David?

In many conference calls, I’ve heard a speaker stop to apologize, “Sorry for the background noise.” They usually mention something like children playing, dogs barking, or nearby construction.

In nearly every case, the speaker is the only one aware of the sound; none of it transmits over the call.

Two points here.

One, unless someone says, “We can’t hear you over the racket,” apologizing for noise isn’t necessary. Most of the time, background commotion is out of our control once the call begins.

Two, what we hear in our own environment is often louder than what others hear. Said another way — and more broadly — the noise that fills your head might be loud, but it’s not the same for others. Others have their own ears, their own heads, and their own noise.

“Count your blessings.”

It’s a nice thought. It’s a useful practice. But there’s more than just counting blessings.

Name them. Acknowledge them. Reflect upon them. Honor them. Share them.

Gratitude is many things, but it’s not a bookkeeping exercise.

It turns out that core exercises can improve posture and decompress the spine, potentially making you a little taller.

It’s an interesting idea, but it works even better as a metaphor.

Strengthen your core and you’re likely to stand a little taller.

So the question is: What’s at your core?

Of the material you read every day, how much do you underline? Or highlight? Or copy? Or save?

If little is worth noting — that is, marking for future reference or as a signal for you to commit it to memory — then what are you reading?

How much of a difference would it make if we read more things worth remembering?

I spent a few minutes trying to squeeze a window screen into place. I tried pushing, bending, prying. It was fractionally too big.

Then I realized that it shouldn’t be this hard; I must be doing it the wrong way.

So I fed the screen completely through the opening and tried securing it to the outermost side of the frame.

And it worked.

Sometimes we don’t need to struggle and force and deconstruct. Sometimes we just need another way in.

When we can’t modify the situation, we need to modify the way we see things.

Yesterday, at 50 years old, Phil Mickelson became the oldest golfer to win a major championship. (It was his sixth.) There are a lot of takeaways from his post-tournament interview.

While playing, he didn’t let himself think about the potential results. He stayed in the present. Stayed focused on the shot at hand. Didn’t let his mind race.

He shut out noise. Didn’t watch television. Wasn’t checking his phone. Tried to quiet things down.

Phil believed for a long time that he could play at a high level again, but he wasn’t executing the way he knew he could.

“Although I believed it, until I actually did it … there was a lot of doubt.”

An interviewer asked, “As age crept up, you never let that get in the way. How did you do that?”

Phil’s answer was immediate: “Worked harder.”

“I just had to work harder, physically, to be able to practice as long as I wanted to. And I’ve had to work a lot harder to maintain focus throughout a round.”

Throughout the interview, he gave credit to his caddie, his coaching team, and his wife. They supported him throughout his journey and never lost faith in him.

We’re all getting older, and we can all learn from Phil. Believe in yourself, even when the odds aren’t in your favor. Stay present and focused. Know the value of those who support you. And sometimes, in order to get what you want, you might have to work a little harder than you used to.

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.