Sometimes the scoreboard doesn’t show the right score. Or how much time is left. Or the right stats.

How we play and what actually happens — those things aren’t always accurately reflected on the board or even in the record books.

The scorekeepers don’t always get it right.

There are times to contest the scoreboard, but most of the time, we need to focus on playing the game.

This concept is just as useful in athletics as it is in life.

It’s a shame; he had so much promise. Could have made a real impact at the patent office. Had he stuck it out as assistant examiner, he might have even risen through the ranks.

But Albert Einstein had other plans. Different dreams. Another career track.

* * *

Don’t think that where you are now is necessarily where you’re meant to shine.

It could be.

But maybe not.

You might be at the patent office.

Not a million fans; but a few hundred.

Does your mind imagine an empty venue? A stadium barely filled? An amphitheater of mostly vacant seats?

Or do you see those same fans in a small venue, tightly packed? A club with standing room only and overflow onto the streets?

We serve whom we serve — whether by the dozens, the hundreds, the thousands or more.

How we think of that number is all a matter of context.

At the same time we seek independence, we also seek affiliation.

As we run from one thing, we run toward another.

In one place we fight and resist. In another, we agree and surrender.

Internally, externally — there is always this balance.

The most valuable work we do is not related to hours clocked. It’s not based on compliance, protocol, or how well we follow the rules.

Our most important contributions are where we use our judgement. Where the lines are fuzzy and the way forward is not clear. Where the next step is not in the playbook.

When we can be mapmakers in uncharted territory — this is where we shine. This is the work that matters.

No one is born best.

Even the greatest of all time — at one point — wasn’t good enough. Was below average. Was rejected. Was overlooked. Was cut. Was let go.

But that didn’t last forever.

They got better. And better. And better.

We can get better too. It might even be that our best moments are still ahead of us — arising in unlikely situations or surprising, new fields.

When we consider our hopes and dreams, it’s easy to begin thinking that once these things come to be, we’ll be happy. That we’ll feel satisfied. That these dreams-come-true will bring us lasting joy and peace.

But over time, we learn that the joy of major accomplishments is just as fleeting as any other joy.

If instead we focus on seeking joy in small things, we will find joy often.

I watched an hour-long sunrise a few weeks ago. As with every sunrise, it was beautiful.

Some of the things I observed that morning feel useful as metaphors.

Things get brighter fast enough to notice a change, but too slowly to grasp it all at once.

The tips of the mountains behind you will catch the sunlight before the sunlight catches you.

We often see ourselves in shadow while things around us are slowly illuminated.

The sun cresting the mountain above and the cars rushing by on the street below — what we observe is our choice.

If you haven’t already, memorize a poem.

Know it well. Love it. Be able to share it.

Why? Because our culture is better when we value the beauty of poetry enough to commit it to memory.

* * *

Actor John Lithgow can recite The Deacon’s Masterpiece, or The Wonderful One-hoss Shay, a colorful, riveting poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes. Lithgow was introduced to the piece by his grandmother, who could also tell it by heart.

Are there words that are dear to you? Enough to commit them to memory?

Once they’re with you, they’ll be with you forever.

Perhaps there are a few lines worthy of that effort.

In his book on leadership, Michael Lopp offers this great bit of wisdom:

“... the part of your brain that wants to scream is exceptional at demonstrating tremendously poor judgement.”

When your brain is yelling, it’s not listening, and it’s not rational.

Use caution when taking action on behalf of the part of your brain that yells.

By engaging your rational brain, the odds of a positive outcome are much better.

Whether it’s through journaling, advising, therapy, coaching, art-making, or some other means …

There’s much to be gained by taking what’s inside our head and pulling it out — so that we can see it, consider it, and learn from it.

As I approached an intersection, the car in front of me slowed and stopped.

The light was green.

The path was clear.

What was the problem?

I waited.

In a few moments, I saw a family emerge from the other side of the vehicle. They had been walking through the intersection, out of my line of sight.

We don’t always see the obstacles slowing someone else’s progress. We’re quick to see that they’re stalled, but sometimes too impatient to understand why.

There’s usually a good reason — even if we don't see it.

Airports can be chaotic.

But eventually, cabin doors close and planes depart.

During peak hours, airports are complicated and loud. There can be confusion, disorder, and unexpected change. One look at an overcrowded security checkpoint and one begins to think, “How will any of us ever depart on time?”

And yet — at some point, there is order. At some point, each hatch closes, each plane moves into position, and each plane takes off.

From chaos, order.

* * *

Life can feel a lot like a bustling airport.

But the bustle isn’t endless. At times, things do fall into place, and order is found … even if fleeting.

Don’t lose hope. Just like an airport, there will be seasons of chaos and seasons of calm.

We bought one of our sons a new bicycle. The person helping us explained, “If you have any issues or need any adjustments in the next 30 days, we’ll be happy to take care of it free of charge.”

He clarified: “That’s 30 riding days, not 30 calendar days.”

A great offer from an honest bike shop … and a good example of the spirit of a law rather than its letter.

Often, there are people who remind us of who we are.

But when those voices are silent, we’re still left with the voice inside our head — reinforcing the story of who we are.

The problem is when people — including us — have gotten the story wrong.

The problem is when we cling to a story that doesn’t serve us.

The problem is when we forget that we can tell a new story from a new perspective … and chart a new future.

If that’s what we want.

Action is intrinsically related to solving a problem.

When we say, “I’ve found a solution,” we don’t even have to mention taking action; it’s understood that it will happen.

Yet when it comes to advice, we often find ourselves more interested in hearing good advice than acting upon it.

We’re eager to nod our heads and say, “Yes! That makes a lot of sense. I should do that.”

We’re less eager to hold ourselves accountable.

* * *

When you recognize good advice, find a way to keep yourself on the hook.

Anyone can listen to good advice. Not everyone figures out how to act on it.

Two ways to deal with an undefined space.

One: plan. Imagine what you could do with it. List your options. Think about how each one might look and feel. Research. Consider. Then, pick one option and go with it.

Two: thrash. Quickly test. Choose a certain number of viable options and pursue each of them. Try this, see if it works, but don’t get locked in. Try something else, see if it works better. Again, not getting locked in. Then another. Finally, settle in on the best choice and recommit to it. Go all in.

Both of these ways are viable. Even a mix of the two could work. The key with either one is to go about the plan with intention and awareness.

Whether or not we experience life in superlatives, we are free to perceive our experiences as superlatives.

Best, worst, hardest, most delicious, most fun, most difficult, most beautiful … our mind is often what makes it so.

For five dollars and in five minutes, I fixed a pair of utility pants.

This was satisfying on a number of levels.

One, something was broken and I fixed it.

Two, I learned a new skill.

And three, I felt like I was doing something responsible — that is, making a simple repair instead of adding to a landfill.

A bonus: the repair kit came in a set of six. I can make five more repairs. (Broken snap, anyone?)

Making things better. Learning new skills. Acting with consideration for the environment. Positioning myself to help others.

It was all worth much more than five dollars and five minutes.

When things are difficult, we take one step at a time.

But sometimes, even one step seems like too much.

So we lean forward and do our best to catch ourselves.

And when even that is too much, we rest. We rest until we can begin anew, one step at a time. Or at least until we can lean forward once again.