If you’re wise (and able) you don’t burn through your whole paycheck. You take a portion and you invest it.

But consider how this principle extends beyond finances.

Each day, we’re given a finite amount of time. A finite amount of discipline. A finite amount of creativity, energy, and attention.

Instead of zeroing the tank in each of these areas, what would happen if you took a portion and invested it? What does that look like? What does that even mean?

Well, these investments could take many forms, but they begin with a mindset. They begin with our intention to grow something over time.

Small steps. Little by little. Drip by drip, in service of something bigger.

What will be your next investment?

It’s not always the case … but sometimes when people say, “I wish I could do that,” what they mean is, “I wish I trusted myself enough to try.”

* * *

If you really want to go after it, maybe it’s time you bet on yourself.

In the record books, a win is a win.

Whether it’s a definitive win by wide margin or a narrow victory that’s hard-fought, a win is a win.

However … it’s the hard-fought narrow victories that feel best.

In life, there are many challenges we get to choose. The easy wins might seem like an obvious path — but sometimes, it’s worth choosing a harder path in order to taste a sweeter victory.

You might walk through an average lawn a dozen times and not think much of it. But if you begin to look for weeds, your experience will change.

Pull one weed and you’ll see another. And then another.

Anywhere there’s a variation, you’ll see it.

So it is with many things. Once you start to look for something, you’ll begin to see it everywhere.

Injustice. Inequality. Racism. Courtesy. Kindness. People doing good. People who seem lonely. Retail discounts. Birds.

So the real question is, “What are you paying attention to? What are you looking for?”

Because if you’re looking, you’ll see it. And if you’re not looking, you won’t.

Leading up to a holiday weekend, I heard a radio host sign off saying, “If you have the day off … remember why.”

Simple but powerful.

Holidays are meaningful because we make them so.

You are unlimited creativity contending with natural constraints.

You are not dead, waiting for inspiration. You are not dormant, waiting for germination. You are alive and rich with possibility.

You are not a blank canvas. You are lightning and fire, ready to make your mark.

As creation finds a way, you are its channel. You are its midwife.

Embrace that blessing.

Find a digital picture of yourself, or take a new one.

Then, flip it horizontally. That is, look at it backwards. Mirrored.

You’ll like it better.

Why? Because it’s the mirrored version you’re used to seeing.

What you see in a photograph is what everyone else sees. What you see in the flipped version is what you’ve been seeing in the mirror your whole life.

Sometimes we forget: we always see a slightly different version of ourselves compared to what the world sees.

Not necessarily better or worse, but different.

If you’ve had a good idea, you’ll have another.

If you’ve done work that was highly praised, you’ll do it again.

If you’ve been happy with something you’ve created, you’ll be pleased again in the future.

Self-doubt has a way of creeping in following moments of success. But remember: the good you’ve done is not accidental. It’s not dumb luck. The good work you’ve done is a result of your skill and determination.

You can own the good.

And, you can be sure there’s plenty more where that came from.

You’re not done yet.

Before you offer critique, it’s important to know what you’re critiquing. Specifically: what’s it for?

An all-are-welcome community choir is not meant to perform at elite levels. That’s not what it’s for.

A school bake sale is not meant to test the chops of skilled bakers. That’s not what it’s for.

A financial report is not meant to entertain. That’s not what it’s for.

It’s not that these examples are beyond evaluation. But critique — if it’s even warranted at all — should be aligned with the thing’s intention.

We’re smart people. Reasonable. Educated.

But we lie to ourselves.

Not in big ways. Mostly in small ways. Like the concept of happiness and satisfaction arriving with “just a little bit more.”

It’s more damaging than a big delusion because it masquerades as something that’s reasonable.

We’re not saying, “Once I strike it rich — a billion dollars — then I’ll be satisfied.”

No. We’re saying, “just a little bit more.” Just a little more money. Or a bit more land. Or if I was somewhat more influential. Or slightly better-looking.

We know these are false promises, but — when we’re not careful — we can start to believe them.

Of course, there’s always a little bit more beyond the little bit more that we desire.

(I’m reminded of the phrase: I still remember the days I prayed for what I have now.)

Aim for the stars. Dream big. But rest in the sufficiency of this very moment. You can be happy here.

I heard a band recently — band, as in: tubas, trumpets, clarinets, percussion and the like.

As I sat in the auditorium, I was reminded: listening is physical.

I don’t just mean that the sound waves vibrated my eardrums and the small bones and hairs inside my ears.

I mean that I could feel the music vibrating in my chest. The sound enveloped me in a beautiful, analog way. My physical presence in the concert hall changed how I experienced the music.

With everything that’s available digitally and miniaturized to fit into an earbud, sometimes it’s refreshing to feel music in its raw form … uncompressed, unfiltered, and unhindered.

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.