Writer/illustrator Tim Urban prompts us to imagine all of human history, written as a 1,000-page book.

Each page represents 250 years.

And mostly, it is the most boring book ever written.

It’s page after page of hunting and gathering and occasional human migration. One would surely stop reading after eight or nine hundred pages of the same basic story.

Then, agriculture is developed. And writing.

But not until page 990 do we read about Buddha. Jesus on 993. Shakespeare on 998.

And then there’s page 1,000. When compared to all the other pages, it seems like it’s from an entirely different book. On page 1,000 we first see things like indoor plumbing. And electricity. And mass production. And vaccines. Cars, planes, and spaceships. Weapons of mass destruction. Computers, the internet, and artificial intelligence.

For 999 pages, there’s less than a billion people on the planet. Turn the page and it’s eight billion.

To say that we live in unprecedented times is not enough. We live in a fractional slice of human history that is unlike any other. And mostly, we’re too close to it to even see it.

If there’s someone who — after spending time with this person, your cheeks hurt from smiling or your sides hurt from laughing … then you are lucky indeed.

Count your blessings, because this person is one of them.

When choosing the right path feels overwhelming, remember that paths can be welcoming and wide. And a wide path allows for a lot of variation.

Travel easy. Of the many choices, there’s more than one right answer.

The insights we gain from doing the work far outweigh the insights we gain by other means.

We can study, we can observe, and we can ponder. And we can learn little by little. We can even have great epiphanies through discussion and mentorship. And we should engage in all of these things.

But when we dive into the craft — when we roll up our sleeves and immerse ourselves — we learn by leaps and bounds.

Our own sweat can often be the best teacher.

The surface can be fascinating. Its beauty can capture and keep our attention. So much, that we’re tempted to think that’s all there is.

But like fruit, what matters most is beneath the skin. Hidden.

So don’t stop at the façade. Go deeper. With conversation. With study. With curiosity.

Discover what’s beneath the surface.

The risk is that we don’t allow ourselves to be bored. That we don’t let ourselves wrestle with the question, “What do I do now?” That our schedules are saturated. That wherever we go, we can bring digital connectivity with us.

We can travel to an unfamiliar territory and at once be fixated on the comfort of our screens. New landscape, same apps.

Technology has the tendency to fill whatever voids present themselves.

And that distraction — that ever-present hum — can keep us from hearing the quiet voice that whispers from within.

As conduits of creativity, part of the practice is in clearing and holding space. Every so often, allowing ourselves that unstructured, undirected mode … to become more sensitive, more curious, and more attentive.

That kind of presence, awareness, and openness can be a gateway to our most meaningful work.

In music and art — perhaps in any subject, but especially in music and art — seek out what breaks your understanding. Sit with the discomfort. Endure the confusion.

Because we learn beyond the edges of what we know.

When we encounter work that is jarring, unsettling, elusive, or unfamiliar … it’s fertile ground for learning and growth.

Don’t avoid it; lean into it. You don’t need to adopt it or live with it. But you can learn from it.

When one goes on retreat — whether into nature or some other place designed for such things — there comes an end to the experience when participants rerun to the “real world” … one that is presumably filled with noise, distraction, and burden.

It’s curious that we use this phrase, “returning to the real world”. As though one of these worlds is real and the other is not. And besides, which is which?

At times, we may have it backwards.

Sometimes what we discover to be resonant truths …

… are things that we’ve quietly told ourselves many times — but hadn’t yet spoken aloud.

Speaking truth can help us to recognize it as such.

The fabric of who we are is woven together — moment after moment — by us placing one thing above all else.

Attending now to this thing, not another.

And then to these things, but not other things.

How beautiful that in some instances, the thing that is of utmost importance — beyond all the personal and universal challenges — is listening to a friend. Or making a photograph. Or washing a cup. Or singing.

Or reading a reflection such as this.

The inevitable peaks and valleys give character to our story, but it’s the ongoing rhythm of our attention — what we choose to notice, above all else — that shapes the contours of who we become.

One of the many challenges of starting something new — like a business, a career, or a project — is that the gestation period can be unknown.

The time needed to gain sufficient skill, customers, market share, or reputation could be weeks or it could be years.

Investors may have a clear sense of whether something is on track or taking too long. But for many of our endeavors, it’s up to us to determine the acceptable timeline.

Quit or persist? It’s a question that deserves periodic revisiting in nearly everything we do.

After a long day, I realized I hadn’t accomplished much of anything. It wasn’t a good feeling. I ruminated on wasted time and the projects that could have used my focused attention.

Later, a mentor gently posed this question: “Did you have a plan?”

Alas, no. I hadn’t had a plan.

That simple awareness released a bit of internal tension.

Without a plan in place, it made sense that diversion and distraction had lead the way.

A plan — even a flexible one — helps to keep those antagonists at bay.

* * *

If you don’t make a plan, don’t give yourself a hard time about the way the day unfolds. That is, if you’ve decided to float where the breeze takes you, then breathe deeply and float.

But if the day calls for productivity, begin with a plan. Not a list of things to do, but a plan for how it will be done.

Some tools have an operating range. A tool that works well under normal circumstances may be completely ineffective when things are heated or unusually cool.

This is true in a physical sense, and it’s also true in the context of things like education, team-building, and mediation.

Timing and temperature are always factors.

The world is full of tools, techniques, suggestions, and advice.

Some will apply to your situation. Much of it will not.

A widely used motto is this: “Take what works for you. Leave the rest.”

It’s a wise approach. However, it’s only as useful as your ability to identify what works.

There’s a lot of noise in the world — all claiming to be helpful. Understanding what works for you can be a powerful filter.

Don’t let finish line anxiety keep you from ever crossing the start line.

A rubble wall is filled with cracks, holes, and irregularities. This is part of its nature. Part of its charm, too.

Just one of those voids, however — on a concrete foundation — could be cause for great concern.

What we expect of a thing, and what’s within the scope of acceptability, can vary widely.

A flaw in one context may be a feature in another. To understand the difference, we first have to know what we’re looking at.

Many times in life, your job will be to fix something someone else has broken.

They may have done this through cruelty, negligence, or inadvertence.

They may be remorseful. They may not.

It’s possible that you won’t know who’s at fault.

Nonetheless, your task is to fix it.

The sooner you can overcome your initial emotional reaction — whether it’s annoyance, anger, frustration, outrage, despair, or aggravation — the sooner you can get to the fixing.

You might even pause to appreciate: you’re the type of person who can fix this sort of thing.

* * *

We live in a world where things break. Those who can mend what’s broken have a special responsibility. When it’s your turn, honor it.

Walk around a contemporary art gallery and you might hear a delighted visitor remarking, “I never would have thought of that!”

A more accurate statement could be: “I never allow myself to think in that way.”

So often, we have overactive filters — creative minds that are muted by social norms and our fears of judgement and rejection.

It’s not that we can’t think of things; it’s that we don’t allow ourselves. We pre-filter and disregard ideas that are risky and unusual. We’re so set on avoiding bad ideas that we don’t allow ideation enough freedom to generate good ideas.

In other words, we’re sometimes dreamers who don’t give ourselves enough time to dream.

The easier thing is to adopt the same tools, equipment, and materials that your heroes use.

The harder thing is to adopt their practices.

The easier thing will make a small difference.

The harder thing will make all the difference in the world.

Behind the counter at the flooring company, a hand-written sign is taped to the desk:

“Can someone else finish the sale without you?”

It’s a great question to help establish the minimum level of documentation for sales associates working with clients.

Working as a team isn’t about creating silos, kingdoms, and proprietary knowledge. It’s about communication, load sharing, and moving forward together.

An open notebook mentality doesn’t just create accountability — it creates an environment with a fluidity of cooperation and collaboration.