Polishing your instrument and putting it together might feel like important work.

And it is important.

But it doesn’t stop there. All that buffing and assembly is in anticipation of the work that matters.

The music begins only when we’ve moved beyond all the preparation.

It was the third day of a tradeshow when my colleague looked down at his pants and said with shock, “Wait! These are the wrong pants!”

He had inadvertently been wearing the pants from one suit and the jacket from another. For three days. Slightly different patterns. Slightly different colors.

Sometimes we just get dressed without thinking. We go about our business and we’re unaware of what doesn’t match.

This works as a metaphor, too. We put on generosity with a little hint of resentment. Or relaxation with some unchecked stress. Or we put on empathy without removing enough judgement.

Mismatches.

But sometimes we’re able to notice this about ourselves. We might even feel the surprise, as though we’ve just realized we’re wearing the wrong pants.

In speaking to a group of people for whom I have great respect, I found that I had placed my hand on my heart. I hadn’t done this intentionally. I hadn’t done this knowingly. I merely noticed it as I was speaking. There it was. Hand on my heart.

As I continued to speak, I let the gesture remain — like a welcome guest.

The experience was a good reminder that the body can tell us a lot about what’s going on inside the head.

I sometimes think this, almost as a prayer:

Teach me resilience … but do it gently.

We want to learn from the world, but we also seek a gentle teacher.

And yet we know: there are times when significant progress is made only through significant struggle.

We’ve all heard the advice, “pick your battles.”

And it’s good advice; we have to let some things go.

But the phrase falls short of an important consideration: timing.

The best time to pick your battles is not when you’re being provoked. Yes, it’s possible to walk away, to take a deep breath, to not say what’s on the tip of your tongue.

But the better time to pick your battles is before you get to the battlefield. And that happens in the quiet moments when we consider what’s important to us and what’s worth our attention in the long run.

How does your presence change the meeting?

Does it merely increase the attendance by a count of one?

Or does it also increase the thoughtfulness? Or the engagement? Or the focus? Or the level of ease? Or the feeling of possibility?

We’re here for a reason, and it’s not just to increase the headcount.

During a three-minute conversation with a stranger (we were both waiting for carryout at a restaurant) a man guessed something personal about me … and he was right.

When I confirmed it, he grinned saying, “It bears witness.”

I wonder: what about you is evident?

Not by way of a t-shirt, a badge, a flag, or a bumper sticker — but in the language you use, the posture you hold, and the way you interact with others?

“People like us do things like this.”

Who are you, what do you do, and what do you believe?

Does it somehow bear witness?

There are awkward in-between stages when you’re letting your hair grow (or slowly losing it).

Or when you’re changing careers.

Or when you’re developing a new skill.

Or when a body transforms during adolescence.

There are always awkward in-between stages.

The awkwardness is merely a sign that we’re growing and changing.

And to grow and change is to live.

“Why do you have to hold my hand?” asked my son as we played in the breakers — waves crashing on our knees and hips.

“Because you can’t swim,” I replied.

And quickly correcting myself, “Because you’re still learning how to swim.”

The more efficient adjustment would have been to say, “Because you can’t swim … yet.”

When we talk about situations as permanent or changeable, it makes a difference.

While installing a spare tire on my vehicle, I paused.

Both sides of this wheel look similar. Which side should face outward?

Turns out, the design made it so that the wheel fit one way and not the other. That helped to make the choice clear. Given a choice that works and one that doesn’t, choose what works.

But as I replaced the lug nuts, I noticed something: the valve stem.

This valve — used for filling the tire with air — was on the outside of the vehicle (rather than facing underneath). This let me know with certainty that I was doing things the proper way.

Sometimes it takes stepping back and thinking simply and practically — and the right path reveals itself.

Sometimes things happen all together.

Sometimes one at a time.

Sometimes we’re caught off guard — because it can be good to be unguarded.

And in the midst of all the surprise, we sometimes surprise ourselves.

Stop thinking it takes a certain number of tries.

Particularly if it’s one try.

Maybe it takes one. But maybe it takes a dozen.

Could it possibly take a thousand tries?

Ten thousand?

Doing something a few times and saying, “Well, I tried,” is as good as saying, “I gave up before I figured it out.”

If it’s worth it, don’t stop trying until you get it.

You should probably stop counting the number of tries, too.

A chess grandmaster might calculate positions as deep as 15 moves ahead. Many scenarios, many alternatives.

While we like to be masters at the games we play, sometimes we forget that most of life isn’t played on the chess board.

Most often, our job is to do the next right thing. Not to prepare for every possible scenario, but to focus on the next step in the right direction.

And once we start moving, we realize that the board is always changing — often in ways we couldn’t have predicted.

I’m working on a commission.

Today, I noticed something: during the course of this project, I’ve used every major tool in my workshop.

Part of it has to do with the complexity of the project. Part of it is the efficiency of the shop. But what I like about this is the idea of using all the tools.

What happens when we bring every tool we have to bear upon a problem? What can we achieve when we use all of our skills? All of our influence? The entire workshop?

The flip-side is interesting, too, in the way of an exercise in constraints: how can we create a project using a single, versatile tool? What tool might that be?

Every great leader is a humble follower.

Every great teacher is a curious student.

* * *

Who looks to you? And to whom do you look?

Who are your students? And what are you still learning?

Consistent or variable?

Scheduled or spontaneous?

Canned or from scratch?

Always the same way or always improvised?

Where do you measure? Where do you eyeball?

What’s scripted? What's extemporaneous?

* * *

Part of our creative wayfinding is in discovering our personal balance between repeating and inventing, reciting and improvising — choosing which things go in which buckets.

A hand-tossed pizza cooked in a wood-fired oven will have an irregular shape. It might be charred in areas. Each bite will have a slightly different flavor profile and texture.

By contrast, a factory-produced frozen pizza will have a perfectly round shape and a remarkably consistent flavor throughout.

We want consistency and predictability in many areas. Medicine and consumer goods, for example.

But sometimes — especially in the art we create — nuance, variation, imperfection, and surprise are exactly what we seek.

When we hear that someone is biased, it suggests prejudice and unfairness.

But we can use bias in positive ways, too.

A bias toward action. A bias toward generosity. A bias toward inclusion.

Our job? Not to be neutral, but to lean with intention.

As an adult, I’m not particularly interested in my own birthday. I don’t draw attention to it. It’s another beautiful day among many. A little older. A little wiser. A little more grateful.

But for a three-year-old, a birthday is still worth noting.

With that in mind, Happy Birthday, Savenwood Blog. You’re three years old today. Many happy returns.

You will miss something beautiful today.

It will be right in front of you and you won’t see it.

Why?

Because beauty is everywhere. Everywhere. All around us. Within us, too.

And yet we don’t always see it. We’re busy. Our attention wanders. We’re distracted. We forget to look for it. Or we intentionally ignore it.

But beauty surrounds us. Envelops us. Emanates from us.

We just need eyes to see it and the presence of mind to recognize it.