It’s not just for the studio, or the classroom, or the recital hall.

It’s for the spreadsheet, and the factory, and the shop, and the meeting.

Your creativity belongs everywhere. Sometimes in the way you act, and always in the way you think.

Let it be serious and focused. But let it be promiscuous too.

To serve it best, allow your creative spirit go wherever it seeks.

What do you bring to the problem, the project, the interaction, the challenge?

Is it curiosity? Kindness? Humor? Resentment? Anger? Judgement? Patience?

Because the situation does not generate these things. We do.

In the moment, we might not realize it, but we’re the governor of the experience. When we’re frustrated about a thing, the source of the frustration is us, not the thing. When we find joy in an event, the source of the joy is us, not the event.

Our experience of a situation is because of what we bring to it.

It serves us well to be intentional about what we bring.

If you can commit to a streak, things will seem to happen all of a sudden.

Exercise regularly, and all of a sudden, your months of work will result in a healthier body.

Write daily, and all of a sudden, you’ll have enough content for a book.

Meditate frequently, and all of a sudden, you’ll live with more calm and clarity.

It’s because we only exist moment to moment. Our streaks become part of our history. When we look from the tail-end of a long-standing habit, we can be surprised at how far we’ve come. Looking back at a journey traveled feels quite different than taking the first few steps.

And of course these things unfold gradually. But life often moves with such subtlety that we can only observe the changes with time and distance.

Step by step, little by little, day by day. It’s the only way we ever do things.

Never all at once. Always gradually.

Then, all of a sudden …

Years ago, I enjoyed some inner tubing on a lake. A boat pulled me along, and its wake created an arcing, bouncing ride.

Someone on the boat gestured over the noise of the water and the motor. I gave the thumbs up: all good here. The speed was fine and the ride was fun.

Soon after, we were going faster and wilder.

Again a check-in. Yes, I was good. A little rougher than I’d prefer, but still fine.

Upon the third check-in, and another increase in speed, I gave a hands up gesture indicating I was ready for someone else to have a turn.

Back on the boat — slightly battered — my friends laughed with delight. “We couldn’t believe you kept wanting to go faster!”

From my perspective, thumbs up meant, “All good.” From the boat’s perspective, thumbs up meant, “Go faster.”

Sure enough, as I watched a video of myself bouncing along, every time I gave a thumbs up, I heard someone off screen saying, “He says go faster!”

Shared language. With it, we communicate. Without it, we might ask for one thing and receive something quite unexpected.

Sometimes — when we’ve been challenged, critiqued, or baited — the best response is to make eye contact, and to say nothing.

To let whatever has been spoken simply be.

To see what comes next.

To allow further comment.

To be genuinely curious.

Because the words that accompany our initial reaction might not help.

And listening with patience usually does.

It’s safe to assume that people talk about you behind your back.

But it’s quite possible that some people are saying good things.

Not everything outside our earshot is critique and judgement.

In fact, some of our biggest fans might never have occasion to let us know.

“Work smarter, not harder.”

The phrase is rarely delivered without an example of someone being clever.

The hard part is figuring out what working smarter is — when we don’t have a model of what that looks like.

Working harder isn’t as mysterious; we just do more of whatever we’re already doing.

But to work smarter, we have to lean on our imagination, vision, and creativity.

“Work smarter not harder” is not a set of instructions. It’s an invitation to a way of thinking.

Thinking things.
Internally verbalizing phrases.
Saying these lines out loud.
Speaking these lines to another human.

These things are not the same.

We can think a thing with equanimity — and then feel a halting swell of emotions when we begin to say it.

Knowing what to say is not the same as being ready to speak.

Sometimes we need to be patient with ourselves.

In many areas, we consider the concept of better. Personally, professionally, locally, globally … we act big and small to make improvements.

But sometimes, it’s useful to consider: How can I not make things worse?

(In my thoughts, in my actions, in any of my efforts … how can I avoid moving things in the wrong direction?)

So as we aim for better, we might keep worse on the radar. At times, just staying in neutral could be a win.

Some stars streak across the sky. Here for a short time, then gone.

Others fill the skyscape with a timeless constancy.

Still others shine with such a twinkle that we love them dearly … and when they’re gone, the whole night sky seems darker.

But like any thing of beauty, a version will live on in our memories.

In truth, what we cherish most we cannot keep forever — except in our hearts.

Well before we’re under the canopy, able to touch the trunk, we’re already standing on the tree’s roots.

We are often connected and supported long before we can see it, touch it, or feel it.

The connection and support are there nonetheless.

In the wild, it would seem like fires spread as great walls of flame.

But they don’t.

More often, it’s the embers that leap from one area to the next.

Likewise, in what we do, it can be the little bits that catch on. The small projects, the one-offs, the outliers … that garner enrollment and support.

The flames gather attention, but the embers do the work.

Start a project. Make it big.

Think big, dream big.

Expansions. Additions. All of it.

But understand the balance between your vision and your expectations.

Know what’s for now, and what’s best saved for later.

What will be completed this season, and what you’ll save for the next one.

What belongs in the beta, and what will come in the revision.

What’s part of the original, and what you’ll reveal in the sequel.

Set yourself up to feel good about forward progress … not to be disappointed that you didn’t achieve the full vision all at once.

* * *

H/T Dave P.

A friend showed me his new daily plan: an extensive to-do list.

“How is this methodology working for you?” I asked.

“It’s hit or miss.”

And that makes sense.

Because a list is not a plan, it’s a list.

Our real progress begins when we can address the what with a solid how.

The status related to knowledge and wisdom is not the same kind of status related to achievement, money, power, and influence.

There can be overlap, but all of these track separately.

And sometimes widely.

If you want to use a lighter touch, stop swinging the hammer.

If you want to make bolder marks, put away the mechanical pencil.

If you want to go slower, get out of the car.

When we want to show up in a certain way, we can help ourselves by choosing the appropriate tools.

It sounds simple enough, but sometimes we choose a tool out of habit, not based on our intentions.

I listened to some workers struggle with an installation. A half-hour job had become a two-hour job and counting.

Lots of drilling, lots of banging, lots of audible exertion.

The longer they worked, the more I thought, “I need to look really carefully at the completed job.”

Because sometimes we struggle until we get things just right.

And other times, we struggle until we give up, we cut our losses, and we try to disappear without anyone paying too much attention.

* * *

Quitting or persisting — whatever’s decided, it makes a difference which side of it you’re on. Good to exercise caution if you’re on the receiving end.

Sometimes we’re so caught up living certain roles that we don’t pause to think about how we’re living them.

Or we’ve been doing it so long, we don’t consider the possibility that we could change.

But we can if we want.

What kind of partner do I want to be?
What kind of coworker do I want to be?
What kind of leader do I want to be?
What kind of _______ do I want to be?

Even if we haven’t recently been conscious, we can choose to wake up.

We’re keenly adaptive. New tools, new situations, new challenges — we figure them out. We rise to the occasion.

But we’re not necessarily optimized for what’s new. Even what’s been designed for us might not be what we were designed for.

It creates a kind of friction.

For millennia, we observed things at nature’s pace. Scenes changed by the sun, the elements, and our own movements.

Today, we’ve learned to click, scroll, and swipe. An impatient unfolding of the next urgent thing.

We are curious seekers. But we don’t need to drown ourselves in news, data, and feeds.

A regular disconnect from the digital landscape can help us to reconnect to the physical landscape — the one that’s matched to our natural internal rhythm.

Farmlands cover what was once a bustling marketplace. Highways and towns layer atop an ancient civilization. A city blankets the original homeland of native tribes.

The change is rapid and the change is glacial. It happens in days and it happens over generations.

The surface ever modulates.

The very spot where you are has its own history.

We are part of a story that began before us and will continue long after us.

For now, this time in history — this one layer — it’s ours.

But borrowed, not owned. Changing, not fixed.