It’s tempting to think that new ways of making art have made the old ways obsolete.

Why paint a portrait if I can take a photograph?
Why draw a landscape if DALL·E 2 can generate one for me?
Why write a poem if ChatGPT can write one instead?
Why animate using stop motion if I can use software tools and simulators?

Well, what’s new doesn’t necessarily supplant what’s old. As new methods gain popularity, older forms don’t become irrelevant. Rather, they take on new meaning and context.

As artists, we choose the medium that fits the message.

We don’t make art because “this is the only way it can be done.” We make art to bring to the world a specific voice in a specific way.

And for artists and makers, the output is only one part of a bigger story. One that involves curiosity, rigor, process, and discovery.

The methods indeed matter.

As creators, we get to choose, and we often make our choices with intention.

There are infinite possibilities. But “select all” is not one of our options. It never has been.

It’s the anything/everything concept. You can do anything, but you can’t do everything. You can have anything, but you can’t have everything.

And yet, we have greater awareness of “everything” than ever before. Between technology, travel, and the movement of goods, all the world is on display — often with little reminder of our finite time to experience it.

So we might be tempted to go for broke … to see how much we can pack into one day, one year, one lifetime. But even at pace, that approach will never feel like enough.

Consider: we don’t sprint through the Met and we don’t skim a Mary Oliver poem.

No.

We savor.

Moment by moment.

We won’t experience all of it, but we’ll definitely experience some of it.

And that will be enough.

We’ve heard the ancient wisdom and accepted its truth: “This, too, shall pass.”

And yet, in moments of struggle or in moments of blissful unawareness, we can slip into believing that things will never change.

The status quo has an alluring way of convincing us of its permanence.

We do know better. But sometimes we need to recall what we know.

Wise words from Seth Godin:

“The most important book you will ever read is the one you write.”

Beautiful encouragement. Thanks, Seth.

• One: I know the answer and I’ll tell you.

• Two: I know the answer and I can show you how to get there.

• Three: I don’t know the answer and I’m unsure of the steps, but I have some ideas and I’m willing to work alongside you.

Observations: some people (young math students, for example) are much more interested in the first two versions of help.

Said another way: when we just want the answer, we don’t have the patience for mentors. And when we seek a mentor, a partner doesn’t usually suffice.

As we mature in our craft, however, we learn the value of partnership in exploration and discovery. Because our most challenging problems are solved not in isolation, but by working alongside others to discover not-yet-known answers by way of not-yet-known steps.

In the sidelines, there will always be people who talk.

There are classically trained guitar players who critique legends like Eric Clapton for the curl of his fingers, or Tommy Emmanuel for the way his thumb wraps around the neck (a real classical guitar no-no).

But Eric and Tommy don’t read from the textbooks. They create music in the way they see fit. They work the instrument in a way that suits their genre and style.

Strictly adhering to doctrine is a great way to make boring art.

Trying different methods and then settling on the way that works best for you in what you’re trying to express — that’s how a chapter of creativity gets marked with your name.

Beauty does not always represent truth. And the truth is not always beautiful.

Even knowing this, we still seek both.

Remember: problems have solutions.

If there’s no solution, it’s not a problem; rather, it’s a situation.

We can totally deplete ourselves of intellectual and emotional energy when we forget this principle — and we try in vain to wrestle with conditions that cannot be changed.

Engage, ignore, accept, reimagine — it’s always our choice. “I can fix this” is a noble mindset. But not every stone is meant to be moved. Sometimes, the way forward is around.

In the Settings menu on my phone, “Phone” is the thirty-sixth option listed.

* * *

The words we invent rarely keep up with how culture and technology evolve.

In making, in speaking, in writing, in getting involved, in anything … it’s useful to know the answer to this question:

“Is this about the other person, or is it really about me?”

Perhaps it can be both. But when there’s tension or discomfort, knowing who it’s for will help us to navigate choices, surprises, and potential disappointments.

Psychologist Jer Clifton points to the value of “homeland tourism” where you “open your eyes to beauty that familiarity hides.” In a recent interview, he explains an exercise he devised. The complete version of the “Leaf Exercise” can be found in his 2013 paper. Here, I’m quoting and paraphrasing from the “How Your Beliefs Shape Reality” episode of the Hidden Brain podcast. Jer gives these instructions:

• Go to a park or a forest and pluck a single leaf from a tree.

• Examine the leaf. Notice the patterns on the front and back. Soak up the beauty in that single leaf.

• Pluck a second leaf. Appreciate its beauty. Note how the story of this leaf is similar, but not the same as the first one you plucked.

• Take a step back and look at the tree. (The average adult oak tree has 250,000 leaves.) Recognize that each leaf is a beautiful thing.

• Take a proverbial step back. Imagine the forests of Siberia and the Amazon.

• Take yet another step back and consider all the plants and trees that have gone before you that produced the air that you now breathe and all the trees that will come (because you just have a slice in time).

• Recognize that all these leaves, if they were rare, “would be mounted and placed in halls of art. It’s only that they’re ubiquitous that they fall and we walk on them, and they’re considered worthless.”

• Then, ask yourself: What sort of world is this?

* * *

What you discover during this exercise will not be exactly what I discover. But it will likely rhyme.

We live in a world so full of beauty — so intensely and completely wondrous — that its very nature can become invisible to us. Through awe, curiosity, and reflection … we can reconnect to that infinite beauty, and begin to see it once more.

H/T Shankar Vedantam for the engaging and generous work he creates, and to Dr. Jer Clifton for his profound reflection.

Sometimes the road to your personal best is long. It can take months or years of planning, preparation, and training.

Other times, it just happens.

A kind of in-the-moment determination strikes. An oh-why-not mentality takes hold.

And just like that … you go further, farther, faster, longer, bigger, beyond what you’ve ever done.

Sometimes your personal best isn’t long-anticipated.

Sometimes you just decide: now. This is happening now.

If you keep a regular physical training regimen, a deload week is a planned period of lighter intensity. During this time, you reduce some combination of weight, volume, or repetitions.

The deload week gives the body time to heal and recover. It protects against overtraining. It’s not a full stop; the habit of going to the gym or the weight room continues. But there’s an intentional lessening of the strain put on the body.

Depending on the program, a deload might occur every six, eight, or ten weeks. Afterwards, the next stretch of training begins … refreshed, adapted, and likely stronger.

Beyond the context of physical fitness, the deload week remains an attractive concept. It could extend to any number of endeavors where we bring a high level of intensity for an extended period of time.

It’s like a calming of the ocean. The water doesn’t become placid, but its movement is notably less turbulent. Still alive, still active, but within a temporarily diminished amplitude.

What happens when you plan for such a deload? What would that look like for you?

How might a deload week set you up for renewed energy and a revived connection to purpose?

If you’re seeking a doctor, an attorney, or a tax accountant, it’s wise to verify credentials.

But in many fields, the wise thing to do is to evaluate the work. Look at the portfolio. Look at the reviews. Look at the track record.

The letters that follow a name can be a starting point, but they’re rarely a guarantee.

Credentials matter, but we’re ultimately seeking outcomes and results … not plaques, diplomas, and certificates.

Sometimes — perhaps the best of times — the laughter is funnier than the joke.

So laugh often. But also seek to be around those who love to laugh.

Laughter alone can fill the ears, but laughter together fills the soul.

There’s power in what we believe.

When we approach situations with certain expectations or prejudices, we bias ourselves toward what we think will happen. Sometimes that has significant influence on what does happen.

We often view such self-fulfilling prophesies as a negative thing. A cautionary tale.

But if our thoughts can influence the unfolding of events — even just a little — then we can use that to our benefit.

It’s the prospect of acting as-if.

When we do that — when we shift into trusting ourselves and believing that the universe will be a collaborator in our best efforts — we give our dreams a chance. We let possibility fill its lungs. We overcome inertia and resistance.

What we expect (good or bad) we will find more often. Not only that, we will tend to draw it to ourselves.

I was at a collegiate volleyball game and my brother-in-law remarked, “I’m just glad it’s a good game.”

It got me thinking about what a “good game” means.

In this case: competitive, exciting, and fair.

Games where one side is clearly outmatched, games that are dull, games that have biased officials … these aren’t good games and they’re not fun to watch.

A good game, however, is thrilling.

In our own pursuits, it’s worth choosing journeys that will result in a good game. It can’t be too easy; we need a challenge. It can’t be too dull; we crave a certain level of excitement. And though we will encounter unfair situations, we can be fair to others and we can be fair to ourselves.

Dare to make it a good game.

We know better than to wait for perfect opportunities. But searching for imperfect opportunities doesn’t seem helpful either. In a sense, everything is imperfect.

A more practical approach is to seek what’s optimal. We can even thrive in conditions that are sub-optimal.

When we remove the tendency to judge things as perfect or not, we free ourselves to dance with what’s real.

Seek perfection and you will be endlessly frustrated. Seek optimal and you will find it often.

Some decisions are stubbornly murky and uncertain … up until you make them. Then afterwards, they seem clear and straightforward.

Many times, deciding is what brings clarity. Not more input, not more data, but simply deciding.

With enough practice, you can do things like a pro.

And with enough commitment, you’ll do them as a pro.