While the Muse can seem elusive, consider the many states through which creativity is expressed.

The artist in awe. The artist suffering. The artist coaxing. The artist thrashing. The joyful artist. The passionate artist. The instructive artist. The playful artist. The prayerful artist. The artist in dialogue. The artist in monologue.

Our condition is wildly variable. Thankfully, creativity can meet us wherever may we find ourselves.

The better students and athletes listen not just when the instructor is speaking to them, but whenever the instructor is speaking. A suggestion to a classmate, some advice for a teammate, a minor correction to someone’s technique — these are not bits of wisdom just for others. Rather, these are bits of wisdom that can help bring color and resolution to one’s own understanding.

The principle is not to be nosy or to eavesdrop — or to think that advice for others is always suited for us — but to have eyes and ears that are eager to learn, whenever knowledge is shared.

“Engaging with the aesthetic of a photographer’s work is different than engaging with the ideas of their work.”

Photographer Stephen Voss gives us this wisdom in his latest issue of Light Readings.

The words prompt an invitation to be patient with any creative work we don’t immediately appreciate or understand.

Ideas and aesthetics are not one and the same.

Learning and inspiration can be sparked by either, even when one of them seems inaccessible.

For three months now, a laser printer has displayed a “toner low” prompt.

And for three months, its print quality has remained flawless.

In some situations, “low” prompts necessary, immediate action. In others, it’s an early warning. In still others, “low” is part of the natural cycle of things, and nothing needs to be done.

In a broad sense, choosing between “wait and see” and “take action now” is one of life’s ongoing questions.

No matter your craft, you’ll have a mix of wins and losses, hits and misses, good shots and bad shots.

As you face your next opportunity, you get to choose: Do I remind myself of my wins? Or my losses? What’s the story I will tell myself in this moment?

Sometimes a simple reminder is all it takes to tip our scales one way or another.

Choose the kind of reminder that will lean you in the right direction.

H/T DLG

Problems are rarely isolated. Most often, there are multiple layers, and a number of contingencies and dependencies.

One helpful practice is to consider, “What’s the problem I’m trying to solve?” We might even need to ask this more than once to find clarity.

But an equally valuable question is this: “Are there related problems I need to address first?”

These related problems can be practical (I need to buy a certain ingredient before I can begin cooking) but they can also be personal (I need to overcome my fear of embarrassment in order to ask for help).

It’s these personal considerations that can be quietly limiting. We tend to dismiss them in service of the “larger” problems. But this can be a mistake.

Pause. See the bigger picture. Triage the situation. Allow yourself the grace to do what’s needed.

Some things that can rise to the top: eat, rest, sleep, mourn, forgive, trust, listen, heal, ask, allow.

When we address problems in the proper sequence, we often travel with more ease and to greater effect.

The person who bemoaned the rain later remarked that the sun was too hot. Earlier in the week, it was too windy. Later, it wasn’t warm enough.

There’s a reliable pattern: the weather will change, and this person will complain about it.

We can practice two skills. One, widening the bounds of what we we consider reasonable and unremarkable. And two, learning to approach our environment as a capable participant, not an unwilling victim.

It’s also good to recall the wisdom that while we don’t choose the weather, we do choose our attitude towards it and we can choose what to wear.

There’s a simple principle in aiming: if you’re missing to the right, aim more to the left.

And we don’t always like simple principles.

Often, we want to keep aiming where we’ve been aiming, but to achieve better results.

It can take a little humility to do the sensible thing … to do what works when it’s not exactly how we had planned to do it.

“Bloom where you’re planted.”

You can’t bloom where someone else is planted, and someone else can’t bloom in your place.

If you’re within fertile soil, why would you remain dormant?

Invite the bloom. Tend to it. Allow it.

Even delight in it.

Life is fragile. Go gently.
You are resilient. Go hard.

Life is unpredictable. Go carefully.
You are resourceful. Go boldly.

Life is beautiful. Notice it.
You are beautiful. Remember it.

In a given day, what occupies your time?

How much of what you’re doing is paying attention to what others are doing?

Awareness is good, but too much awareness has a cost.

We can’t live as spectators. We have a larger part to play. One that invites us to move out of the viewing gallery and into active roles.

From observers to actors.

Not just watching, but participating.

It would be easy to skip a day. Easy to take a short break. To pause, rest, set aside, shelve.

But some things are worth doing. Some streaks are worth keeping alive.

Even when you’re tired. Or doubting. Or lacking motivation.

Breathe deeply. Prompt a mental reset. Continue the practice. Keep the fire burning.

You’ll feel more at ease on the other side of a momentary challenge.

If you’re feeling uninspired, go back to the well.

You just have to know what “the well” is. It’s different for everyone.

For some, it’s solitude; for others, time with friends.

For some, it’s nature; for others, an urban landscape.

For some, it’s the work of the masters; for others, it’s clumsily trying something new.

It can come from sitting in quiet meditation, and it can come from vigorous movement.

Impatience will not help. Most often, inspiration comes unexpectedly … while we’re engaged with the practice. That is, we often have to take the first step.

Identify the well. Go there.

Not everyone is reasonable.

In fact, you can spend a lot of time and energy crafting a well-reasoned argument for someone who doesn’t listen to reason.

And it will be to no avail.

When someone is being unreasonable by your measure … more reason is unlikely to help. (They are likely being reasonable by their own estimation.)

Until you can find a way to soften the landscape, save your energy for those with ears to hear. Deep listening — from both sides — is always a part of the best way forward.

Rick Rubin’s insightful book is titled, The Creative Act: A Way of Being.

Note that the subtitle is not “a way of being seen” or “a way of being understood” or “a way of working”.

Simply a way of being.

Take heart in that.

In target archery, the center-most ring scores highest.

But not in darts. In darts, the red bull isn’t always the goal.

Bullseyes are alluring, but it helps to know which game you’re playing.

Sometimes, off-center might be exactly where you need to aim.

Rushing to the hydrant, dragging the hose, and dousing the flames can be heroic.

But if you’re the one who set the fire, it’s far less impressive.

Putting out fires is heroic, but there’s also heroism in fire prevention. It’s just that the preventative measures don’t tend to generate headlines.

View this as a metaphor for doing the quiet, steadfast work that helps to avert all kinds of disasters.

There’s coaching in the calm and there’s coaching in the moment.

They’re not the same.

Whether it’s self-coaching or coaching someone else, there’s a fundamental difference between what happens in training and what happens at game time.

It’s tempting to amplify the latter to make up for shortcomings in the former.

But that rarely works.

Robust coaching in the calm allows for more effective coaching in the moment.

In the best scenarios, primetime coaching only needs to reference what’s already been learned and practiced.

That is, it’s difficult to call upon a skill on stage … when that skill has yet to be developed behind the scenes.

In grade schools where there’s a summer break, there are two ways a class’ term approaches its end.

In one instance, the lessons continue as usual. The work might even intensify.

In the other, things slow down. They begin to show movies. Sometimes there are snacks.

In the story of your workday, your career, your life … which posture do you adopt? Is there time to learn a bit more? Time to create something new? Or do you wrap up early, settling for movies and snacks?

Perhaps you’ve found a healthy way to experience both modes.

Earlier this week, we had a day of much-needed precipitation.

During the rainfall, I found time to sit quietly. The sound of the raindrops on various surfaces was captivating.

I recorded 60 seconds of these sounds, thinking to post it here for you — that you might share in that moment with me.

But it was not to be.

In listening to the recording today, it falls short. Not only does it not capture the experience … it’s not even close. A mere shell of what had transpired. One-dimensional audio, and missing all of its substance.

* * *

We have to experience some things first-hand to experience them at all.

For these moments, recordings will always pale.