At times, rest won’t make us feel better. Entertainment will not. Comfort will not.

At times, it’s work that make us feel better. Struggle that ignites us. Discomfort that fills us with new life.

Feeling better might not be on the other side of a nap — it might come in the middle of a sprint.

Recently, I found myself checking email, checking a tracking number, checking the news, and checking a few other things — more often than it was useful.

I had just checked all of these things, and ten minutes later, I was checking them again. Reloading the browser. Refreshing the feed.

What I realize — and this happens from time to time — is that I was wanting change. I was seeking a different reality. I was in a holding pattern waiting for a shift. Hungry for a moment of progress.

And while a level of awareness is helpful, constant monitoring is not.

So instead, when I find myself over-monitoring, I try to pause. I ask myself, “Will checking help … or will it just scratch an itch?” And if it’s the latter, I gently encourage myself to refocus on the work at hand.

24 hours of practice, three different ways:

A minute a day … for 1,440 days in a row (about four years).
Thirty minutes a day … for 48 days in a row.
Eight hours a day … for three days in a row.

No hard data here. Just an assertion: There’s a sweet spot somewhere between practicing a tiny bit every day for a long time and practicing long hours, but for only a few days.

All three examples would result in 24 hours of practice, but the quality and outcomes would be starkly different.

Advice: find a regimen that’s sustainable. Focus but don’t burn out. Go easy on yourself, but not so easy that you’re not stretching.

Then repeat.

Put together a streak.

The best learning happens from a sustained push at the edge of our abilities.

Are there people in your life for whom you’ll drop everything if they need help? People who have a special spot at the front of the line if ever they are in need?

If you do, then you know: it’s not a burden. It’s a blessing to love someone so much.

I recall an organizational meeting when a friend — known for his quiet, calm, easy-going demeanor — let the committee know what he was planning for his segment of an upcoming event. He began by saying this: “Here’s what I’m going to do, and you can’t stop me.”

It was tongue in cheek and the assumed persona made us laugh.

But underneath the humor was a serious commitment. He believed in his plan and he wanted us to know it.

* * *

When do we believe in a project so fiercely that we’re willing to fight for it?

When do we trust our creative endeavors enough to act with you-can’t-stop-me boldness?

My friend mentioned that his wife goes to the gym in the evenings. I asked, “Do you ever join her?”

And with his hand proudly on a generous stomach, he joked, “Does this look like a body that works out?”

We both laughed.

But in truth, I try not to make such assumptions. I’ve learned that what we see of others is a fleeting moment in time — a person in subtle transition between yesterday and tomorrow.

And how we look doesn’t always tell the story of what we do.

You can make it cheaper. You can cut corners. You can keep expanding the profit margin.

It’s a game you can play, and many do.

But the longer you play the game, the more you erode trust. The more you betray your promise.

And that’s a game you can’t play forever. Because at some point, you’ll win — and you’ll be stuck with all the cheap things you’ve made and no one left who wants to buy them.

We can do better.

One full day … free from meetings, free from obligations, free from the usual incoming distractions.

What could that full day do for your headspace? What could that freedom enable? What could that space allow?

“I can’t take a full day off.”
“I don’t have time for that.”
“I have too much to do.”
“Too many people are relying on me.”

Respectfully, can I disagree? Can I suggest that you could make it possible? Can I imagine that — even if it took asking for help — you would be able to make that kind of day happen?

What might you discover? How could focusing on yourself for a full day positively influence the weeks and months to come?

I wonder if you’ll try it to see.

When given the opportunity, make it special. This isn’t about unnecessarily going over the top à la live orchestra playing an Elgar “Pomp and Circumstance” march for a pre-school commencement.

But it is about taking extra care when you’re in the driver’s seat. Addressing an envelope, announcing a name, presenting a gift, directing traffic, setting the table.

Any of these things that involve a level of care, a degree of judgement, and a choice of style.

We have endless opportunities to elevate the ordinary — not to make it more than it ought to be, and not to make it about ourselves and our ego — but to bring professionalism and thoughtfulness to things that might otherwise be done in careless haste.

When we can make things special, let’s do so.

Stay in the moment today.

When you find yourself lost or wandering, come back to what’s in front of you.

It is, however, a dance. There’s a balance between living in the moment and being conscious of trying to live in the moment.

Simply pay attention. But remember: capturing and chronicling is not the same as experiencing.

Live today fully. Be aware of the gift that it is. Do that, and the day will memorialize itself.

There will be days, and moments within days, when the mental battle is far more important to fight than the physical battle.

More specifically, there are times when — for the body to win — the mind must win first.

And more generally, positive mental gains make every other kind of challenge easier to handle.

Muscles don’t grow while they’re under tension. The growth comes afterwards … when the body is at rest.

In a similar way, our creative and intellectual selves need rest in order to grow. We need those moments between sprints. Time away from the studio. Sleep.

Digging in is necessary. Focused, deep work is critical. But so is the dip that follows a creative heavy lift. That mental, physical, and emotional depletion is part of creative growth.

Recovery time isn’t static; it’s when meaningful things are happening underground.

* * *

We plant with exertion. We grow with rest.

(H/T A.K. and S.V.)

Highlight reels are good for the fans. They’re exciting and fun.

And they’re good for the players too.

Keep one of yourself.

Not out of ego. Not because of vanity. But as validation. As a reminder: you’ve done good, important, meaningful work.

Your reel could be a portfolio, or a resume, or (even better) a simple list that you write. After all, some of the best highlights — the times where we’ve made our most valuable contributions — many of those moments live outside of portfolios, resumes, and CVs.

Keep a list. A personal, private list. Visit it every so often. Smile for the moments when you’ve shined brightly.

Like a parent at a school performance putting an arm around a dozing child (who would likely topple out of a seat) — sometimes our job isn’t to stop things from happening, but to help them to happen gracefully, without insult or injury.

The attitude is not, “I protest! This cannot be!”

Rather, “How can I soften the blow?”

Challenging moments in life build our character.

Mostly, these moments are not enjoyable. Not fun to experience. Not easy to witness in others.

But they’re a necessary part of growing.

It’s hard to appreciate this when we’re right in the middle of it.

So be sure to take a step back. Anticipate the struggle so that when it happens, you can remind yourself: there’s an after.

Do something out of love today.

Not for gain. Not for glory.

Just out of love.

It doesn’t have to be big. Actually, it shouldn’t be big.

It should be small. Small, and out of love.

In that sense, it’s quite big indeed.

And tomorrow, take this advice again.

Immediately after waving to me and saying, “I can ring you up!” the cashier struggled to log into the system. Meanwhile, another cashier said, “I can take you over here.”

A kind offer, but I waited where I was.

The person helping me dashed over to get a manager’s help. “Why isn’t my password working?”

Again, the other cashier: “Really. I can help you, sir.”

“Oh, I don’t mind the wait. We rush around too much anyway. I’m happy to catch my breath.”

What I didn’t explain was my perspective: it’s generous to wait patiently. And it’s a gift to hold space while someone else is trying to do their job. When possible, it’s kind to let them see it through.

Sure enough, after a minute, the password was accepted.

After I finished paying, the cashier said, “Thanks for being patient. I really appreciate that.”

I replied, “I knew you’d get it sorted out!” (I didn’t, really. But patience often involves keeping quietly hopeful in the midst of uncertainty.)

Fire is inevitable.

Our task is not to ask, “How do we stop fires from happening?”

It’s to consider …

“How can I influence the burn?”

“What do the flames clear away?”

“What can I learn from the ashes?”

“How can I tend to the new growth that will emerge?”

Fire is inevitable.

Work with it and with what comes after.

There are certain things we commit ourselves to doing …

Even when we’re tired.

Even when we don’t want to.

Even when it hurts.

Even when …

In a way, our lives are the story of what we do with all of the “even when” moments.

Aerospace engineer Burt Rutan has said: “Testing leads to failure, and failure leads to understanding.”

Notice that we don’t end with testing.

We don’t end with failure.

We end with understanding.

And, of course, understanding isn’t an end — it’s a beginning.