Travelling changes our surroundings, but it also changes our understanding, our perspective, and our thought patterns.

Travelling changes us.

If we travel and we have not been changed, then perhaps we have not truly travelled.

With no preface, a young child asked me the following series of questions:

“Dog or boat?” (boat)
“Dog or cat?” (dog)
“Cat or flower?” (flower)
“Flower or boat?” (boat)
“Dog or flower?” (dog)
“Boat or dog?” (You asked me that already. Dog, this time.)

I still have no clue about the survey’s purpose, but I was glad to participate.

Sometimes — often with children — it’s a game of improvisation. A posture of saying “yes, and …” and going with the flow.

Suspending judgement allows us to play, and we need more play.

Less, “Wait, but why?” and more, “Sure, I’ll join in.”

Curiously: when interacting with adults, sometimes the opposite advice is appropriate.

Good design and reliability are independent qualities.

If you’re going to build something that lasts forever, it’s wise to take extra care in designing it well.

Change is a condition of vitality. No change, no living.

Stasis is not living. In a way, it’s death.

Perfectly tidy, untouched — that’s for museums and hotel rooms.

Living brings along a bit of mess. We don’t have to keep it messy, but we can welcome occasional mess as a sign of life.

In taking apart a small box, I saw printed text in an unexpected space.

“Ooh, hello there.

You’ve stumbled into our secret spot. It’s a great place to store coins, receipts, and other tid-bits that don’t belong in your pockets, or down the side of your sofa.

If you’re not into that, that’s okay. Because 100% of this packaging is made from FSC accredited paper — with no harsh chemicals, plastics or laminates so you can recycle it along with the pulp tray that’s in your other hand.

Thanks for stopping by.”

I’m generally not drawn to contrived folksiness in products and ads, but this one got me. It’s enjoyable to find a thoughtful message in a surprising place.

Moments like these let the user know that the designer was anticipating a specific act. It’s fun to be on the receiving end of that. Probably fun for the designer, too.

“I just play the songs the best I can, inspired by the seasons and the topographies and regions, and, occasionally, by sociological elements, and try to improve as a player over time.”

George Winston, in his own words.

He had phenomenal skill, a deep knowledge of his craft, and a kind, humble nature.

Rest in peace, George. Your music lives on.

A common psychological metaphor: the best way to stop a tug of war is to put down your end of the rope.

Whether someone’s at the other end, or it’s an immovable challenge, there are times when the best thing to do is to consciously drop the rope.

From the prologue of This American Life, Episode 178.

Ira Glass: “When we were weak we told ourselves we were strong. And sometimes — if we were very weak — we told ourselves we were very, very strong.”

We are often fortune tellers. Not because of premonitions, self-fulfilling prophecies, or foregone conclusions. But because we invent the world we see in our minds. We lean into who we tell ourselves we are.

When we speak of defeat, we draw it to ourselves.

And when we speak of strength and resilience, we become them.

It’s not that the air is stagnant. It’s just that we’re moving too fast.

Sometimes, to feel the delicate breeze, we have to sit very, very still.

And sitting still runs counter to our usual stimuli.

Rather, sitting still while undistracted — being fully present — is not our usual mode.

But it’s a worthwhile practice.

There is, after all, the delicate breeze that awaits us.

“Excuse me. Would we be able to use your electricity, please? I have a 100-foot extension cord.”

The person setting up the public address system for a street fair in our town was asking for help. (We were happy to give access to a receptacle.)

One thing I like about this interaction is that the requestor was making it easy for us to help. He knew he would need electricity that day. Instead of showing up with empty hands, he brought along something that made the assist effortless.

* * *

Arriving prepared doesn’t always mean bringing everything you need; sometimes it means you’ve considered the conduits through which others can be helpful.

When you make helping easy, you’ll find help often.

To properly close the side gate in our yard, you need to lift the handle an inch.

This is how the hardware has worked for ten years. (We don’t use this entrance often.)

I had become so used to lifting the gate that I never considered aligning the hardware.

Yesterday, I removed the latch mechanism and reinstalled it … an inch lower.

With two minutes’ effort, everything now works swimmingly.

From time to time (or maybe all the time) it’s good to look around to see where we can reduce friction, where we can create alignment, and where we can help things to work as they should.

It might not take much time or effort to make a change that has lasting impact.

Some problems are sticky. Not because we’re lacking all ability, but because we don’t know which ability to amplify. We don’t know which muscle to flex or which skill to develop.

And so some problems can feel insurmountable.

In a way, one of the best skills we can develop is the mental skill of understanding problems and recognizing potential deficiencies.

When we gain these insights, we learn where to focus our efforts.

How do you measure up against the average?

Hold that thought.

When you buy a shoe, do you ask for the average size? Probably not.

Averages can be useful. In some domains, the average can be a benchmark.

But don’t be fooled. What propels you forward (in the things that matter) is unlikely to be related to how you measure against the average.

Painting isn’t obsolete because of photography. But it has changed.

Handwriting isn’t obsolete because of the Gutenberg press. But it has changed.

Furniture-making isn’t obsolete because of IKEA. But it has changed.

Art-making isn’t obsolete because of artificial intelligence. But it’s changing.

More and more, we’re only limited by our imagination, not our physical skill and dexterity. New tools are being invented every day. The latency between ideation and creation is ever shrinking.

So our task is not to fight it, but to recognize it and to understand its implications in the work we do. To honestly ask, “What’s the value of doing this the old way when it can be done in this new way?”

We don’t have to embrace every new thing and we don’t have to cling to tradition.

Instead, we can work to understand our options — all of them — and we can make informed choices.

We tried to save the bird.

We couldn’t.

My older son found it standing, unmoving, in the middle of the road. It must have fallen from its nest.

It perched on my finger as I carried it to a nearby tree where we hoped it could rest and heal.

But within a few minutes, it became clear that the little fellow wasn’t going to make it.

For a moment, I thought to shield my boys from this trauma. I could remove the bird and let them think it flew away.

But I knew better.

Death is a natural part of our world. We can’t hide from it.

My younger son was the most curious about the creature. I explained what was happening.

He cried.

We sat together quietly.

He asked if we could bury the bird if it died, and we did.

Later that day, my son asked me to come to his room to look at something.

He had recreated the bird using LEGOs. A memorial. It even had a limp left wing, just like the one we found.

Death. Mourning. Remembrance. Celebration.

It all comes in sequence. We can hide from the difficulties nature offers, but then we’re hiding from the learning and growth too. When we accept the natural way of things, we can find ways to create beauty.

From grief, creativity. From death, new life.

Waiting for inspiration is a trap.

We show up and do the work whether or not we feel inspired. That’s part of the practice.

But when inspiration does present itself — like an unexpected state of flow — you hold onto it. Not casually, but intentionally … with white knuckles like you’re headed into a turn on a roller coaster.

We’re not always inspired. But sometimes, inspiration arrives as a timely gift. Ride it where it takes you.

What have you been doing while no one is looking?

We are our habits. And many of our habits are personal. Private.

But over time, what we do repeatedly — even if no one sees — will begin to show on the surface.

How we take care of ourselves, what we choose to learn, how we relax, what we consume, what we practice … all of these habits coalesce like an emergent pattern.

As the evidence of your own habits begins to show, what will we see?

A picture is worth a thousand words. Some of them might even be true.

* * *

We know that pictures aren’t reality. Pictures can, at times, capture a version of reality. But they can also tell stories that are entirely invented.

More and more, it’s difficult to know which is which.

What we do know, however, is that the feelings images evoke — those can be quite real. Pictures can cause us to be deeply moved, and to take real action.

As we traverse unprecedented shifts in technology and visual generation — where algorithms and artifice abound — keeping a knowing connection to our own perceptions and experiences … that seems quite important.

In the hours just after midnight, it was the wind through the trees. As the sun rose, birdsong. Later, the business of commuting. People moving about. Traffic. Tools and equipment. In the afternoon, laughter. Children playing. Neighbors talking. And it all tapered once again in the evening.

Our soundscape cycles and changes in an ongoing rhythm.

If you’re not hearing what you want to hear — what you need to hear — perhaps you’re just listening at the wrong times.

In a world that encourages us to be physically sated — through thoughtful diet or overindulgence — let that not be our creative goal.

Instead, aim to stay hungry. To stay curious. To stay working.

In your creative life, don’t seek fullness. Seek the the mid-meal feeling of, “This is delicious. More, please.”

Our appetite for creativity and curiosity isn’t a task to eliminate. It’s a state to maintain.