For the past four decades, Warren Buffett’s annual salary has been $100,000.

His salary is part of a story we can tell, but it’s not the whole story.

It’s tempting to do it, but we should be careful about making too many assumptions based on a single metric.

Sometimes we have to make a guess.

We won’t have enough information. We won’t have enough confidence. We won’t have enough assurance.

We’ll just have to make our best guess and see what happens.

But over time, we learn, and we get better at guessing.

And over time, we learn, and we get better at responding to the consequences of our guesses.

That second part is what’s most encouraging: that we improve by trying — not by hiding.

The fear of making the first mark on a blank page can keep us from making any marks at all.

If you watch an artist begin a drawing, you’ll often see the tip of her pencil hovering over the surface of the paper. Perhaps tracing a line in the air. Or moving in sweeping circles.

There’s a fluid precision about these preliminary motions.

And then it happens: the first mark is made. After that, the work continues.

The artist doesn’t hover and then walk away from the easel. And she doesn’t hover indefinitely. She hovers momentarily and then makes her first mark.

If you’ve been hovering long enough in your own pursuits, perhaps it’s time for you to make your own first mark — whatever that might be.

After that, the work can continue.

“Something funky happened on your blog today!”

A good friend sent me a text and a screenshot. He had noticed what others had noticed: some odd extraneous text in the Savenwood blog email.

Here’s what happened. Earlier, I had created a draft post to show some colleagues my process. I deleted the draft, but somehow it still found its way into the feed and Mailchimp sent it along with the daily post. Sorry if that caused some head scratching on your end.

It pains me when these things happen, but they do happen. And there are things to learn.

One, if deleting something is important, check the trash can. Shred it. Get rid of it. Be sure you have clear division between what’s good and what’s in the discard pile.

Two, be gentle on yourself. Snafus happen. It’s how we deal with them that matters.

Three, be grateful for good friends (like my friend Ryan). Not everyone will pay close enough attention to notice your errors. And the people that do notice something funky won’t always say something (for good reasons). But it’s a gift when you have an inner circle — like the friend who can quietly pull you aside to say you have something in your teeth.

(Hey. You’ve got something there. No, other side. Yep. Got it.)

Sometimes we have the choice between being humble and getting what we want — and being stubborn.

And for whatever reason, we decide that what we really want is to be stubborn.

In those situations, let’s be conscious that we’ve made the choice.

The snow that had recently blanketed my neighborhood is now gone.

But in my yard, I can still see a small pile — the remnants of a snowman.

That little bit of packed snow made me think: sometimes there’s evidence where we’ve shown love or attention. Their effects tend to linger.

Sometimes we’re lucky.

Sometimes we’re not.

It’s good to acknowledge luck, but that’s about it. It’s not useful to dwell on it.

Better instead to stay focused on the important work at hand — luck or no.

A flat piece of paper is pristine, but it cannot hold many forms.

Crease it and it can maintain a shape.

Crumple it and it has form.

* * *

It’s similar with us. Dents, wrinkles, and imperfections are what give us our dimension.

Jealousy might show up as indifference.

Fear might show up as anger.

Depression might show up as sarcasm.

Insecurity might show up as generosity.

Often, we’ll bristle at the idea of experiencing a particular word. But when we look closer, we find that the word in question can show up in other ways. It’s just first word wearing different clothes.

It’s not that we necessarily feel every emotion. But we certainly feel the cousins and distant relatives of every emotion. Recognizing this can help us to understand ourselves as much as it can help us to understand others.

Or at least to try.

The beauty of a holiday meal with family and friends is not just about eating food.

It’s about cooking together. Sharing recipes. Learning techniques.

It’s about telling stories. Even stories we’ve already heard. Especially stories we’ve already heard.

It’s about laughing with each other and laughing at ourselves.

It’s about tending to the needs of the moment. Refilling a drink. Clearing a table. Washing dishes. Cleaning up a spill.

For meals like these, food is only part of the equation. All the rest happens because of love.

Pause to wonder at the power of gratitude.

When we prioritize it — or simply call it to mind — it’s able to wash away immeasurable negativity.

And gratitude is something that’s always available to us. We don’t need special circumstances or a particular setting. We don’t need a special day or a special moment.

We just need the presence of mind to embrace it.

Begin with gratitude … and everything begins to change for the better.

In the United States, it’s the day before Thanksgiving. Many people are actively working out the details of a special meal for tomorrow. They’re thinking carefully about the question, “How will we feed everyone?”

It’s a beautiful moment that catches us at our best. It works as a powerful metaphor, too. What happens when we spend more time focused on making sure everyone is fed?

There are many times when we get the opportunity to “teach someone a lesson” — to hold them accountable for their mistakes.

But this isn’t the only path. There are times when we can help. When we can soften the sting. When we can fix an error. When we can be kind.

Turns out, kindness can be a lesson too.

When asked, “How are you?” a friend of mine often replies, “I’m hanging in there.”

I like to joke with him about his potential to moonlight as an acrobat.

* * *

Our desire to “hang in there” comes from the right place. It’s born of grit, determination, and persistence. But it’s not necessarily a sustainable activity.

There are situations where a tighter grip doesn’t help. Times when we’re challenged not to hang on, but to let go. To release. To allow.

And the curious thing about it is that we never know for sure what will happen until we actually let go. Until we make that shift, we can only imagine.

The words of Chögyam Trungpa come to mind: “The bad news is you’re falling through the air, nothing to hang on to, no parachute. The good news is, there’s no ground.”

It takes courage to hang on. But letting go is courageous too. Here’s to doing it with purpose and beauty.

My daughter’s eyeglasses were recently broken. One of the temples cleanly snapped off from the rest of the frame. It will be a few weeks until a new frame is ready.

Offering a temporary fix, I said, “We could try to tape them.”

“To my face???”

“No. We could try to tape the parts together.”

* * *

Sometimes miscommunication isn’t about hearing the wrong words. It’s about hearing the right words in the wrong way.

Since ancient times, we’ve been reminded:

“The quality of your mind determines the quality of your life.”

And yet.

As a culture, we put so much effort into improving our circumstances and surroundings — and not nearly enough effort into improving our minds.

We seek healing through bandages, yet we know it doesn’t work that way.

* * *

Mind your mind. It’s where we begin.

I took a night hike with my sons. The moon was bright and we walked along the trail without the aid of flashlights. Even walking through shadow, our vision was sufficient.

But something changed as we approached a well-lit clearing. The lights created an inhibiting contrast.

Once we saw the light, the proximal darkness became more difficult to navigate. Things nearby were now dark and obscured.

Those last hundred yards as we approached the light — those felt the darkest.

As it so often does, nature seemed to be teaching a lesson about what it’s like to navigate life’s highs and lows.

At first, we tend to be impressed with the people who make the biggest promises.

But ultimately, we’re most impressed with the people who are consistent in keeping the promises they make, no matter what size.

Following a difficult couple of hours, I gave myself a pep talk as I walked to the car.

“You’ve got this. Deep breath. Your best self, right now. Just begin again. Fresh start.”

And as soon as I finished that thought, I somehow managed to drop my car keys into my coffee.

*Plunk.*

How? I don’t quite know.

But “my best self” in that moment meant laughing at the ridiculousness. Sometimes all you can do is to humbly laugh at yourself and then move on.

Here’s to coffee, spare napkins, and whatever happens next.

Last night, I needed to focus on a task — one that I had been avoiding.

To help me stay on track, I took two minutes to list all the things that were not more important than that task.

The list included my usual distractions: news, email, social media, internet browsing, streaming media, televised sports, and checking things like account balances and tracking numbers for shipments.

None of that was more important than the task at hand.

And just by naming those diversions, it added enough tension that I was able to keep distraction at bay. The temptation was still present, but my resolve was stronger. I think I'll keep the list handy for the next time I need to use it.