Yesterday, I witnessed two adults reconcile.

They had recently argued about an organizational policy, and the argument didn’t go well.

And here they were, days later, having a calm discussion. Finding a way forward.

Afterwards, they’d go their separate ways having come to a place of peace.

It was a fine example of conflict resolution.

Too often, one disagreement leads to another, words are exchanged, and bitter rivalries develop. People choose sides. It gets messy.

But it doesn’t have to be this way.

We can do better … and some are leading by example.

Sometimes our plans go off the rails. Despite our best efforts, things fall apart.

It’s helpful to keep in mind that the in-progress derailment is a poor time for self-flagellation.

Your inner critic will disagree. The inner critic is quick to speak up. Quick to point out that you’ve broken into a sweat. Quick to highlight the royal mess you’re making.

But in those moments, critique isn’t what’s needed. Calm is what’s needed.

Let the thought be, “For now, I’ll get through this as best I can.”

Mentally note areas where you can learn, but don’t dwell on them.

Silence the critic and rouse the inner coach. Even the inner cheerleader.

And recall that you learn precious little from a smooth ride; you learn a lot when things come off the rails.

In sport, an assist is generally an action taken by one player that results in another player scoring. For team efforts — in the field, on the court, or at the workplace — assists are critical.

It’s possible, too (without being selfish) to set yourself up with an assist.

You can plan in a way that reduces friction toward your goals for tomorrow. You can keep your belongings organized so when you need them, there they are. You can try to anticipate unusual scenarios so that if they arise, you’re prepared.

It’s a way of thinking about tomorrow-you getting an assist from today-you.

* * *

At this moment, are you benefiting from a self-assist? Surely in some ways.

And if not, you can change the pattern moving forward.

Many times, the problem is not that we’re at a loss for ideas.

No. Often, the problem is that we’re amidst countless, partially formed ideas. Like we’re trying to capture a single raindrop in a storm.

But solutions don’t come from grasping at raindrops. They’re drawn from the reservoirs.

So let the rain fall. Have patience. Most ideas don’t arrive fully formed. But trust that they do come together, little by little, sometimes drop by drop.

They say that nature abhors a vacuum.

Perhaps this is why clearing and holding space can be so useful in a creative practice.

When we thoughtfully create voids and emptiness, we prompt opportunities for creation. These gaps become primers for possibility.

A fresh canvas. A blank day on the calendar. A period of silence. A clean studio. These are all vacuums in their own way, all in service of creativity.

What might flow inward in the space you create?

Completing the lessons doesn’t mean you stop practicing the skills.

Lessons are a beginning.

The practice is ongoing.

* * *

We’re lifelong learners; practicing is a continuous part of that journey.

No one gave me permission to start writing this blog; I just started doing it.

And I’ve been getting away with it for nearly five years.

I wonder: is there a creative journey you might begin with no one’s permission but your own?

It could make a striking difference in your life.

It has in mine.

A few years ago, I tweaked something in my back. I felt the discomfort for about a week.

Eventually, the pain began to lessen. Then it became barely noticeable. And finally, nothing. I felt free. Liberated.

It prompted me to consider what we’re capable of doing when pain subsides. Physical pain. Emotional pain. Creative pain.

And how pain and discomfort are part of the natural way of things. A gift when absent, perhaps a lesson when present.

As we’re set free — through whatever means of healing — we come alive again. Ready for what’s next. Ready for what’s now. Richer for the experience.

Following my last medical checkup, I had some bloodwork done. Once the results were available, my next order of business was clear: find out if the numbers were good numbers.

So I found myself Googling things like “good triglyceride levels” and “healthy LDL”.

We are swimming in a sea of data. And if we’re going to look, then it’s important to understand what the numbers mean.

But the other important thing is to not get overwhelmed by all the data. There are some numbers we could safely ignore forever — medical or otherwise — and still live happy, healthy, fulfilling lives.

After all, many of the best things in life are impossible to quantify.

Reminder of the Johari window and its quadrants:

Open: Things you know about yourself that others also know.

Hidden: Things you know about yourself that are unknown to others.

Blind: Things others know about you of which you’re unaware.

Unknown: Things unknown to you and unknown to others.

This framework can be applied to ourselves, but it can also be applied to the work we do.

What happens when the window’s proportions change? Or when we shift elements to the open quadrant? Or when we dive into those other three quadrants to see what we can discover, or to connect more deeply with others?

A shift in the quadrants could be the herald of significant personal change.

* * *

H/T Joseph Luft and Harrington Ingham

Good days can be good because of what’s present.

Good days can be good because of what’s absent.

Many things are like this. What we leave out can be just as important as what we put in.

Here’s to having more of the right mix.

You don’t have to open the meeting telling the story of fighting traffic, running two blocks, and barely arriving on time.

You don’t have to start the appointment explaining your terrible night’s sleep.

You don’t have to begin the lecture by saying you’re nervous and feeling a little scattered.

Introductions of this sort are meant to lower expectations. To prepare others for a lesser-than experience.

You don’t have to do that.

What you can do instead, is take a deep breath. And again.

You can put the arrival stress — and its associated story — behind you.

Focus on the work at hand, not on the obstacles you’ve recently overcome.

Allow yourself to mentally transition … and then begin fresh, as you had intended.

The work doesn’t always make complete sense as we’re making it.

Don’t let that stop you. Keep creating.

Sometimes, the output of our creativity needs time and distance for us to better understand it.

Observe, reflect, create … the three are part of a continuous cycle whose order can often change.

I once knew someone who never used contractions in speaking. It was never, “It’s nice to see you.” It was always, “It is nice to see you.” Never, “How’s it going?” Only, “How is it going?”

It was unusual and quasi-robotic, but it was memorable. Specifically, it was one of her memorable traits. Many people knew this about her.

Do you have a particular way of doing things? A way that you show up in the world that’s characteristically yours?

Of course you do.

It’s not something to ignore. It may even be something to elevate.

But first, we have to recognize it.

What’s so you about you? What makes your voice your voice?

Sometimes, it takes a little ink on the calendar to get us properly motivated.

When we know there’s an upcoming exhibition, we finish the sculpture. When we’re anticipating overnight guests, we tidy the house. When we’re on the schedule to perform, we fully prepare the pieces.

* * *

If you find yourself lacking motivation, schedule an event. Let its existence on the calendar be a friendly push in the right direction.

In other words, if the motivation isn’t coming internally, invite it to manifest itself through a bit of external pressure.

A house painter and a farmer will look at the weather forecast differently.

What we see is informed by our personal hopes and dreams, and even more by the pressing needs of today.

It’s useful to remember this … particularly when we look at the forecast together.

It’s unlikely that any piece of art you admire is a first effort.

And it’s quite likely that you’re not privy to the failed works that lead up to it.

Art and creativity can seem like magic.

But magicians will tell you: magic takes a lot of practice.

When a built-in cabinet is crooked, who’s to blame?

The installer? The cabinetmaker? The person who hung the drywall? Perhaps the carpenter who framed the wall. Or maybe the crew that poured the foundation? Or the company that leveled the lot?

While results are obvious, responsibility can be less clear. Often, it’s the last person who touched the project that gets the most scrutiny.

When systems work properly, periodic quality checks prompt corrections all through the process. Each step of the way, some level of personal responsibility assists a virtuous ratchet.

* * *

In teams with a shared vision, everyone checks for level and plumb.

The desktop is a better place for time-sensitive paperwork than the filing cabinet.

“Out of sight out of mind” is real.

It’s why we keep reminders for important things we don’t want to forget. A sticky note, an alarm on our phone, some words on a whiteboard … we each have our own techniques.

Do you, however, have methods of reminding yourself that you’re creative? Visible cues of your innovative spirit? An occasional alert that reminds you to stay curious? Or that your voice is a valuable contribution?

We often have reminders of what we need to do. Sometimes we also need reminders of who we are.

The normal cadence of your walk: one, two, one, two. It’s in the musical equivalent of 2/2 or 2/4 time. It happens without thinking. It’s the norm.

But what if … what if for a moment, you made a subtle shift? And now you’re walking in 3/4 time. Baaa-dot-dot, baaa-dot-dot …

That feels quite different.

Switching the beat here and there or changing the meter completely — this can present new perspectives, new attitudes, and new insights.

Sometimes a subtle shift is all it takes.