When we are behind schedule — or we feel like we’re behind schedule — there’s often the pressure to catch up.

If you’re facing a project deadline, then catching up makes sense; you’ve got a job to do.

But that same feeling can bleed over into other areas. A backlog of magazines and newsletters. A queue of shows. A shelf of books. Your ideal resume. Your portfolio.

Here, catching up is more … problematic. And maybe impossible.

So consider exchanging the concept of “catching up” with the concept of beginning.

Don’t worry about the backlog. Just start. Begin. Go.

That action will build momentum and you’ll make the kind of progress that’s unhindered by pressure, guilt, and shame.

Just begin.

Creative.

Some people are afraid of the word. They might even say things like, “I’m not creative.” Perhaps they were told that when they were young. Maybe it’s just a feeling.

But there are other ways of thinking about creativity.

You might consider saying, “I have good ideas.” Or even, “I’m patient enough to work through a lot of bad ideas until I find a good one.”

Or you might say, “I like to experiment. Sometimes things work, sometimes they don’t. Either way, I keep trying.”

Or you might simply say, “I’m curious.”

If you can say anything that lives in this world … you still might not want to admit that you’re creative. But you are.

A friend recently said, “I think this is good, but I don’t really know. I don’t have anything to compare it to.”

This happens sometimes. Along with observing, we seek comparison. We have a general sense of something’s worth, but then we begin to second-guess ourselves. “Is there something better? Am I foolish for liking this?”

The harder (but important) thing to do is to see what’s in front of us, to evaluate it based on its purpose, or our needs, or our wants … and — provided it fits — to stop looking for the thing that’s just a little better.

If we judge a thing as good and sufficient, let it be so. We don’t need to torture ourselves with comparison.

Good questions don’t necessarily have immediate answers. Be patient with them.

Questions like, “What’s next for you?” or, “Where are you called to contribute?” or, “What does success look like for you?” And dozens more.

They all need time to marinate.

Rainer Maria Rilke’s wisdom from Letters to a Young Poet can help in the meantime.

“Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”

At the end of some days, we look back with a twinge of regret: “I didn’t get anything done today.”

The natural follow-on question is, “Did you have a plan?”

It’s one thing when the day doesn’t go as planned. It’s another thing when there wasn’t a plan from the start.

Having a plan helps to storyboard the narrative that you’ll have at the end of the day. Without that framework, when we look back, we’re not confronting a reasonable sense of what we can do within a given day. Instead, we’re weighing what we actually did with our full imagination of what could have been.

That’s not a fair comparison.

Set a plan. Even if it’s loose. Even it if it’s to improvise. Even if it’s to rest.

And at the end of the day, be kind to yourself. (Self-compassion should always be part of the plan.)

Humans are hard-wired to need work. When we don’t work enough, the body and mind tend to rebel.

Part of it is because we naturally like to solve problems. So much that when we don’t find interesting problems to solve, we often invent them.

That can be good if we’re inventing problems in the lab or in the studio. We call that creativity.

But when we’re creating problems where none exist — in business or in personal situations — that becomes a problem of its own.

If you’re listless, find some good problems to solve. And if you don’t find any, pick fertile ground and create them yourself; just make sure you’re creating the kind that could prompt beautiful solutions.

It’s possible to use clothing to prompt yourself to feel and act in a certain way.

But part of the goal, over time, is to be able to step into a role no matter what you’re wearing. To pull from within regardless of what’s on the outside.

When you truly believe in something, you’ll do whatever you can to make it happen. You’ll sacrifice time and resources. You might even sacrifice status and reputation.

For those worthy projects, the primary question is, “How can I make this work?” not, “How can I make this profitable?”

And thank goodness.

The best things in this world have resulted from a focus on meaning … not money.

Journalist Ellen Goodman once shared this observation: “Normal is getting dressed in clothes that you buy for work and driving through traffic in a car that you are still paying for — in order to get to the job you need to pay for the clothes and the car, and the house you leave vacant all day so you can afford to live in it.”

Clever. But these words also prompt an opportunity to reflect.

Why do we do what we do? The puzzle that we’ve put together — does it make sense? Does it reflect the kind of life we’d like to live? Have we included pieces that are distractions rather than contributions?

Because we do have the ability to edit what’s become normal. And while rearranging, reconfiguring, and deleting might seem a little scary … it could also be thrillingly, satisfyingly transformational.

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.