For some, today is a day of great consequence.

For others, it’s merely a Saturday.

For some, today marks a terrible memory.

For others, it’s one that’s sweet: a birthday or a wedding anniversary.

Each day unfolds as someone’s dream. Each day unfolds as someone’s tragedy.

It’s a giant book with many pages and many chapters. We’re often at different places in that book — sometimes not even aware of the other readers — but we live it together, bound together, each day.

Warm wishes to you and yours … on whatever page you find yourself today.

Even if it’s only for a short while, play the other part.

If you’re normally a pitcher, play catcher.

If you give the orders, experience taking them.

If you’re the vendor, be a customer.

If you’re always a guest, try hosting.

When we take on the other role, we get a better understanding of both sides. When the tables are turned, we gain a perspective that we could never fully appreciate from our usual seat.

The reason “walk a mile in someone else’s shoes” endures is because it’s such a valuable exercise. Of course, it’s a lot easier to recite the phrase than it is to actually give it a try.

But if a mile is too far, perhaps we could give it a few steps just to learn a little.

When we think about what’s unknown inside of us, we often think of the worrisome things — like viruses, disease, and cancer.

Hidden adversaries.

But within us, there is also not-yet-discovered skill. Unknown talent. Surprising courage. Secret mettle.

Of the many mysteries inside of us, some of them are sure to be remarkable.

A standard traffic signal tells us what to do. Red, stop. Green, go.

But stop signs are different: they perpetually tell us to stop. Stop signs don’t turn into “go” signs. Instead, the job is ours to know when it’s safe to proceed.

In life, there are plenty of good reasons to stop. But it’s important to recognize whether we’re at a signal or a sign.

Waiting for a stop sign to change is a good way to get stuck … because it will never change. There’s not going to be a green light. No signal. No one to wave us forward. Just us having recognized that it’s safe to proceed — and then going.

It’s a lot easier to get attention than it is to hold attention.

The hard part is not saying, “Look at me, look at me.”

The hard part is responding to, “OK. We’re looking at you. Now what?”

While there can be tension in those moments, it’s a good tension. Hold it. Honor it. Then, give ‘em what you’ve got.

If we’re not careful, we might start to tie our self-worth to things we see with our eyes. Or numbers we see in an account. Or things that have to do with luck and circumstance.

If we’re not careful.

But we are careful.

Aren’t we?

Maybe you haven’t yet made your mark on the world. Or you’re still in the process.

But have you at least taken the cap off the pen?

Have you made a few scribbles?

Do you need to be holding back?

Maybe it’s time to get started in earnest.

“What did you learn today?”

That’s a common question to ask children who have finished a day at school.

But isn’t it also a question we should ask ourselves at the end of each day?

Just because we aren’t sitting in a classroom doesn’t mean we’re not learning.

Study. Observe. Listen. Notice. Read. Discover.

Intentionally learn.

And then make time for reflection; it’s part of the learning process.

In the busyness of the first week of school, my daughter asked, “Why so many things to do? Why couldn’t I have been born a … oh, I don’t know … a mushroom! They don’t have nearly as many responsibilities.”

And I explained, “You are part mushroom, dear! Because your father is a fungi. A fun guy.”

With an eye roll and a smile, she acquiesced; it was a good one.

Humor doesn’t solve our problems, but it can boost our spirits enough to navigate them.

When our work becomes a slog, sometimes the ladder out of that pit is a creative pursuit that directly confronts the slog.

If you’re constrained, do some work that’s specifically loose.

If you’re married to a genre, explore a totally new area.

If you’re tired of working clean and tidy, work dirty and messy.

You know the “in case of emergency, break glass” signs?

In case of creative boredom or frustration, build out a safe space to turn things upside down. Give it a rattle and see what happens.

“I want to help.”
“I want to feel helpful.”
“I want to look helpful.”
“I want to be helpful.”
“I want credit for helping.”
“I want credit for offering to help.”

* * *

All of these intentions are related, but none are the same. Each one sparks different words and actions.

Sometimes those words and actions can even be helpful.

What we learn today sheds new light on what we thought we knew yesterday.

Said another way: Every step forward has the potential to change the way we think about our previous steps.

With each moment, history gains new context.

It’s easier to consume than it is to produce.

Easier to be entertained than to think deeply.

Easier to be distracted than to dig deep.

Easier to watch than to engage.

In striking a healthy balance, make sure you’re choosing to do the harder things often enough.

How long are you a visitor before you’re a regular?

How long are you an outsider before you’re an insider?

How long are you a noob before you’re an expert?

We often become regulars, insiders, and experts before others know us to be regulars, insiders, and experts.

How long it takes for that shift to happen has a lot to do with how willing we are to trust ourselves.

If we imagine our emotions as actors and our presence in the world as a stage, we might think life is a string of solo performances. Different scenes, different emotions, each taking a turn at center stage.

But it’s more complicated than that.

At times, we find ourselves directing a scene where a dozen emotions have taken the stage — some of them unexpectedly — and we struggle to put on a coherent show.

“What are all of you doing here? And why do you seem to be fighting each other?”

In these moments, as best we can, it’s wise to take an intermission in the form of a breath, a step back, or a centering thought.

The goal is not to kick actors off stage, but to acknowledge their presence. To accept that — for a reason — each of them has entered the scene. And to remember that not everyone on stage needs a speaking role.

As I collected my son from baseball practice, he said, “I feel good!”

Like any reasonable person would do, I paused to play James Brown’s most celebrated song.

But then I asked why he felt this way.

“I dunno. I just know I worked as hard as I could at practice.”

No mention of hitting well. No mention of winning a scrimmage. No mention of a spectacular play.

Just that he worked as hard as he could. One hundred percent effort.

* * *

We can’t control outcomes, but we can decide how much effort we put in.

And putting in everything we’ve got feels pretty good.

The most direct journey home — to safety, belonging, and truth — can often take us along unknown and unfamiliar pathways.

It’s never perfect. There’s always a hiccup. Or a scratch. Or an error.

So the question is never, “What do you do with perfect?”

The question is always, “What do you do with the imperfections?”

We can ignore them, we can try to fix them, or we can learn to embrace them.

There’s always a choice.

Advice for creative progress:

Pick a creative act you can reliably and consistently repeat. “The Smallest Creative Act.”

Every day, write one thoughtful sentence.
Or draw one interesting contour.
Or compose one musical phrase.
Or take one compelling photograph.
Or cut out one new shape.
Or _______.

What’s the one, smallest creative act you can do each day, day after day?

It’s not about outcomes. It’s not about production. It’s about process. It’s about stretching a muscle. It’s about starting a creative streak and keeping it alive.

Set the bar low enough that there’s no barrier. Make it easy. Make it doable. Make it repeatable.

Then, after a hundred days — or a thousand — see what’s come of it. See how you’ve changed. See what new pathways have revealed themselves to you. And keep going.

It keeps us from our dreams. It makes us forget what’s important. It pacifies us. Renders us ineffective. It can keep us from our greatest potential — as a culture and as individuals.

What is this dangerous threat?

Distraction.

And it’s all around us. Within us, too. 24/7.

To conquer any challenge, we must first conquer distraction.