A panel discussion included two participants.

The speaker who was pragmatic, who presented both sides of the equation, who pointed to the nuance — was boring.

He presented facts. He explained that the issue wasn’t cut and dried. But his presentation was dull.

The other speaker was fiery, unequivocal, unyielding, and highly compelling. He didn’t acknowledge gray areas … and he garnered all the applause.

Because speaking in absolutes is entertaining.

Because it’s far easier to shout from the extremes than it is to shout from the middle.

But “entertaining” is not the same as “right” and the way forward (empathy, compassion, service to others, and shared vision) is not necessarily entertaining.

How fully can we own our work?

How completely can we claim credit for the good elements … as well as the bad? To be bold enough to say, “Here. I made this. Any errors are my own.”

It’s far easier to point fingers. To lay blame upon a contractor, or a proofreader, or an intern, or a technical glitch. To say, “That wasn’t really my fault.”

“All errors are mine” seems risky. But really, it’s empowering. When we simultaneously accept credit and blame, we embrace an ownership of the work that allows us to write the next chapter with freedom. No hiding, no deflecting … but instead, a forward-leaning judo approach to whatever outcomes we produce.

If you’re seeking a good likeness in a portrait drawing, the contours and spaces have to be right.

The distance between the eyes. The distance between the nose and the cheek’s edge. The distance between each feature. The contour of the chin. The placement and shape of the hairline. The shape of the brow.

When all these things come together, a drawing can look a lot like the subject. When they’re off, the drawing looks like another person.

But all these details serve as a poor reminder of who we are. Yes, it’s how we look at a given moment in time. But what’s a shifting hairline? What’s an elongated ear? A wrinkle or a jowl?

All these are nothing but a passing physical manifestation.

And we are so much more than that.

Absent what the eyes see of your physical self, what makes a good likeness of you?

Some people are so caught up in the details of their own lives, they don’t have the bandwidth to be concerned or curious about yours.

It may be a self-obsession or it may be overwhelm. You might not be able to tell the difference.

Either way, be at peace. You might feel overlooked, but it’s not personal. Some wear invisible headphones that play such a loud and complicated story, it’s hard to have ears for anything else.

When you encounter people like this — and you might encounter them frequently — give them a little grace.

The small sign in the oceanfront souvenir shop says:

“If you or your child break something, bring it to the checkout so we can wrap it for you.”

Simple accountability.

The solution to some accidents is quite straightforward.

We’re quick to say, “Sorry.” Are we as quick to make things right?

James Taylor and Stephen Colbert. Both seasoned professionals. Both skilled performers.

Both still get nervous.

A few resonant lines from an August 4, 2022 interview on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, and some reflections.

* * *

James Taylor: “Ninety percent of show business is how you look when you’re nervous.”

We don’t always eliminate nervousness. We often carry it with us. We work through it. The goal isn’t to not be nervous. The goal is to perform well regardless.

* * *

Stephen Colbert: “I’m nervous every night before I come out — because I know how it should play up here.“ [points to head]

We know what good looks like. We know how we want to show up. We care. But we also know there’s often a gap between our vision and what happens in the real world. That potential deficit can cause plenty of worry.

* * *

James Taylor: “You want to be either in the moment or slightly ahead of it. You want to be thinking about what you were about to do — and not what you just did.”

All we have is what’s now and what’s next. Dwelling on what just happened comes at the expense of our ability to prepare for the next thing. When we lean slightly forward, we can craft a beautiful present moment.

* * *

(Thanks to my friend, Kayle, who pointed me to the segment.)

On the first day, there’s excitement. Things are fresh, bright, and new.

Then, there’s every other day. And those days tend to be less shiny. During those days, the work can start to feel more like work.

But we can — with a shift in mindset — hold on to a little bit of that first-day magic. We can approach each day as new (after all, it is).

The seed of beginning is always with us, but we still have to embrace it.

As Marcus Aurelius advises, “Think of yourself as dead. You have lived your life. Now, take what’s left and live it properly.”

Today is another first day. Go live it.

Writer and civic evangelist Eric Liu says, “We’re all better off when we’re all better off.”

It’s a simple, powerful truth.

A good reminder, too, that this life is not a zero-sum game. Our culture often seeks to identify winners and losers. But when we can work to make things better for everyone, we all win.

We don’t have to be all things to all people. We can’t be, and we need not try.

But we can be some things to some people.

We might not learn how to play all the songs. But we could learn one song really well.

Perhaps we don’t consider ourselves a poet. But maybe we could write a few beautiful stanzas.

Even if we don’t make a living as a chef, we could still learn to cook a few great dishes.

Small areas of excellence. We can all strive for that. And that might be enough.

Sometimes the problem isn’t that we want a thing. It’s that we want a thing and we want it to be easy.

And often, easy just isn’t in the cards.

So the question is: do you still want it, even if it’s not going to be easy?

Fred Rogers — the beloved television host, Mister Rogers — doubted himself. Even after two decades of success. After some extended time away from the work, he typed this note to himself. As ever, his generosity offers deep and powerful lessons for all.

“Am I kidding myself that I’m able to write a script again? Am I really just whistling Dixie? I wonder. If I don’t get down to it I’ll never really know. Why can’t I trust myself. Really that’s what it’s all about … that and not wanting to go through the agony of creation. AFTER ALL THESE YEARS IT’S JUST AS BAD AS EVER. I wonder if every creative artist goes through the tortures of the damned trying to create? Oh, well, the hour commeth and now IS when I’ve got to do it. GET TO IT, FRED. GET TO IT. … But don’t let anybody ever tell anybody else that it was easy. It wasn’t.”

And a hand-written postscript, added weeks later: “It wasn’t easy but it was good. The five new scripts about school are nearly complete and I can see how helpful they can be. This I must remember!”

* * *

We all struggle with doubt. Creativity is hard. But it’s worthwhile. Recall why we do it. Remind yourself of its value. Coach yourself away from the paralysis that self-doubt sows and get to it — get to the important work that only you can do.

Seek contribution over credit.

You can control how you contribute, but not whether you receive credit for it.

At times, you will not be mentioned, thanked, or acknowledged.

But then again, there will be countless occasions where even you do not know the extent of your good influence.

Don’t hold your breath for the recognition. Let the contribution alone be your reward.

It’s easy to get so caught up in tracking and measuring that we lose sight of why we’re collecting the data in the first place.

The focus moves to the record-keeping and away from the thing itself. We become fixated on the map, forgetting about the territory it represents.

Track as much as it’s helpful. But if it’s not helping — if it becomes a kind of busy work of its own — then it doesn’t deserve so much of our attention.

A blind taste test attempts to eliminate prejudice and bias. For the most part, however, we’re not tasting blindly.

A certain variety of coffee might be voted best in the world — out pacing all its competition.

But how does that winning brew compare to a decent cup of coffee enjoyed with dear friends? How does it compare to a better-than-average pour while sitting in an idyllic setting? Or to the kind whose aroma recalls a sweet memory from the past?

Our judgement of a thing is often a function of its context.

At a retail store, as I waited for customer service, I noticed seven — SEVEN — separate 8.5 x 11 signs posted in different locations.

One was about where certain issues should be addressed. One said that appointments were mandatory. Another was about financing. Another had different details about appointments. One was a hiring ad. Another advertised quick repairs. And one — with just the name of the store as its title — had two paragraphs, each with its own numerical list below.

And this doesn’t even include the various signs telling customers where to stand for social distancing.

This is life. Signs are everywhere, and many of them look the same.

The challenge of our time is not about whether we see the signs. The challenge is knowing which signs matter. Which to read. Which to ignore.

Our burden is one of filtering.

But by finding the right filters, the right guides, and the right mentors — and by being clear about our values and goals — charting the path becomes much easier.

In a building under construction, an entry door is often in place before the steps that lead to it.

So it is in life: we sometimes catch sight of opportunities before we can take advantage of them.

Look for doors. Be vigilant. And when you can, be step builders.

When we discover something that works well, we don’t like to change. Consumer products offer good examples: pens, golf balls, cleaning supplies. If there’s one we like, it becomes our go-to. We choose the same kind again and again.

But when something doesn’t work, we’re eager to try new options. We’ll test and experiment until we find a good solution.

This is a good way to operate, but it can be problematic when we think something works, and it doesn’t.

Whether it’s our personal habits, our business practices, or our way of navigating the world — sometimes we repeat behaviors that didn’t work well the first time, and probably won’t work well the next time. We repeat our approach whether it’s in our best interest or not.

We’re all creatures of habit. From time to time, it’s wise to examine those habits to see if they’re really working for us.

And if they’re not, it’s time for a change.

In a recent workout at a hotel gym, I put my wedding band in an interior pocket of my clothes to save it from getting scratched.

Two minutes into my exercises, I checked to make sure the ring was still there.

It was not.

Surely it had fallen beside the bench? Or under a nearby machine? Or rolled farther away?

When those searches were unsuccessful, I began to panic. I began to look in places where it seemed unreasonable for the ring to have fallen. I looked in illogical places too.

And of course, I checked the small pocket at least three more times.

After five minutes, beneath my breath, I asked, “Why is this happening to me?”

Another few minutes later, I found it. The ring had fallen into the liner of my clothing. I was exceptionally relieved.

But then I reflected upon my previous thought: Why is this happening to me?

It wasn’t happening to me. It was happening, yes. But there were no forces behind it. The world was not conspiring against me. There was no meaning behind the temporary loss, the frantic search, or the joyous discovery.

It was all just happening.

Sometimes, we try to form a narrative around events when there is none.

But even though the world isn’t “teaching us a lesson” in these moments … we can still learn from any situation.

Learning requires the student, but not always the teacher.

It might just be a sixty-second introduction. Or a ninety-second anthem. Maybe a two-minute reading.

The brevity of your time in the spotlight should not diminish the intensity of your rehearsal.

Practice. Evaluate. Adjust. Improve.

Not in spite of its brevity, but perhaps because of it.

Rise to the occasion. Make it just right. Do it justice.

A glimmer of magic — yours to create.

By themselves, outcomes cannot be perfect.
By themselves, circumstances cannot be perfect.
By themselves, situations cannot be perfect.

But when met with your attitude, a kind of perfection can be found.
But when met with your posture, a kind of perfection can be found.
But when met with your creativity, your resilience, your intention, your perspective, your patience, your wisdom …

… a beauty that rhymes with perfection can be found.