Possessing the skill and doing something with the skill — these are two separate things.

To learn the former is not yet to learn the latter.

The friction between knowledge and action is often our biggest challenge.

While luck can always play a part in wins and losses, the more reliable predictor is whether people show up and do their jobs.

It’s less about spectacle and unprecedented performance and more about consistently playing our roles.

The path forward doesn’t require unusual heroics; it mostly asks for routine, steady contribution.

If you were traveling from Oakland to San Fran, you might take 80. Not to 280 (it doesn’t connect). But don’t take 8A, which goes to 880. And if you see 8B on 80, you’re going the wrong way.

All this is to say: enunciation matters. The more clearly we can speak, the more likely we are to find our way.

Creative currency: we all have it. Some people build more wealth than others, but we all have some level of creative currency. And we have individual daily budgets too.

A kind of discomfort can arise when one, we are unaware of the budget. And two, when we discover that we’re low on funds, but still seeking to spend. Said another way, sometimes we spend it all early and we have nothing left for later.

For instance, you might organize a beautiful corporate calendar, and later not have the energy to compose music. Or you might find a clever way to manage conflict resolution in the morning, but have little energy to paint in the evening. Or after developing a new product feature by day, you’re stagnant when it comes to planning the dinner menu.

This is not to say that we can’t maintain a steady level of creativity. Certainly we can. But for many, the funds ebb and flow. And at times, we’ve blown the creative budget.

In those cases, our desire is to restore that currency. While there are many ways to replenish the creative spirit … practically, a good night’s sleep is often the first step.

I reminded my son, “Don’t forget to take care of [that chore].”

“I know.”

“I know you know. But that doesn’t mean you’re going to remember.”

* * *

This happens not just with our responsibilities, but more broadly in life too. We know things. We even know things deep down.

But we don’t always remember.

Things like who we are. What’s important to us. What’s irrelevant. What we’re capable of doing. Who loves us.

We know these things. Still, sometimes we need the reminders.

Knowing and remembering: they’re not the same.

“You could make a lot of money by turning this into a business.”

And.

“You could turn your beloved hobby into a stressful burden by making it a business.”

Both are possibilities. Not guarantees, but possibilities.

Sometimes transitioning to a business is the right thing to do. Other times, the business of business complicates the joy and freedom of doing a thing.

Be aware.

Our dog recently had surgery to remove bladder stones. At home, during the post-operation recovery phase — as we observed his body and behavior — we had three recurring questions:

“Is this normal?”
“Should we be worried about this?”
“What do we do?”

(We spoke to our veterinarian, who helped us to answer these questions.)

This happens often in life, particularly in domains where we lack expertise. We observe phenomena but we’re not exactly sure what they mean. We see a few data points and we don’t know if we’re watching a concerning trend.

Often, the key is to catch ourselves before we begin to catatrophize what we see, or before we ignore something that needs attention. That’s where informed advice becomes essential.

Some of us have wide and varied interests. This can be exciting. And occasionally, it can be problematic.

When we lose the thread between our various endeavors, it can feel like we’re fragmented.

But when we take the time to locate ourselves — when we recognize that we can be complex and integrated — we turn fragments into facets.

And that subtle shift makes a huge difference.

Before you’re ready …

… a situation will develop.
… a relationship will end.
… someone will die.
… the culture will change.
… the world will shift.

This is the business of life. But the truth is, we are ready. It’s just that we want things to unfold as we feel ready. And if we’re honest, we’ll never feel ready for some things.

But if our concern is our ability to navigate these things — then yes, we are indeed ready. After all, we’ve navigated everything we’ve faced thus far. We can do it again.

For its finale, the high school band performed an invigorating Saint-Saëns’ Bacchanale. It was fantastic.

About a minute and a half into the piece, the bass drum hit with such force I could feel it in my chest. As the song continued, I found myself waiting for that passage to return … to feel the drum once again.

It’s worth considering: what elements might we include in our own work — special and judiciously selective — that will keep others waiting for it to come 'round again?

To be sure, “all bass drum all the time” will not work.

But when we frame a thing just so, when we weave a story that has just peaks, we create a magic that others will gladly (and even patiently) seek out.

There’s you not doing the thing.

And then there’s the story you tell yourself about you not doing the thing.

They’re not the same.

Our actions are one thing. The narrative that we create afterwards is quite another. We’re responsible for our actions … but we’re also responsible for the story in our heads.

And it’s easy to forget that we’re the authors.

Advice: be a kind writer. Write and live a story that serves you and others well.

It doesn’t take long. It’s remarkable, actually.

That a person — the right person, at the right time — can tell a story in a minute or two. And that story can have a profound impact on us. It can change us deeply.

And it really can happen in just a few minutes.

With the right storytelling and the right listening, we change. We pivot. We’re born anew.

So our venerable task is to tell stories.

So our venerable task is to listen.

Don’t try to keep up with the Joneses.

Or the Musks, Edisons, Cubans, or Blakelies.
Or the Asimovs, Dylans, Swifts, or Picassos.
Or even the Teresas, Nightingales, or Gandhis.

Be inspired. Be motivated. Learn.

But run your own race.

Our journey is our own. All the measuring sticks, signposts, and mile-markers — they’re only useful when they track our own journey.

Other benchmarks are on others’ benches for a reason.

Light and dark, perfect timing, alignment — it’s no wonder that a solar eclipse captures so much attention; it’s many of the things we naturally appreciate.

May we learn to savor even the lesser contrasts and synchronicities which quietly present themselves throughout our days.

How many colors can you name? A few dozen? Many hundreds?

Scientists estimate that most humans can see about a million colors. Others estimate ten times as much.

We don’t have a name for all that exists.

Even so, don’t let the poverty of language lull you into seeing too simply.

If you’re serious about keeping a streak alive — about establishing a consistent habit — strip away the parenthetical coda, “if I feel like it.”

Because there will be many, many times that you don’t feel like it.

Instead, decide ahead of time: I’m going to do this thing whether I feel like it or not.

That decision will give you the little extra push that’s needed when you’re tired, unmotivated, uninterested, and uninspired.

Because we know some streaks are too important to compete with the naturally wide spectrum of our emotions.

When facing difficult times …

Those who don’t know better might say, “I wish I didn’t have any problems.”

Those who do know better might say, “I wish I had a different set of problems.”

And those who are wise might do less wishing — and more working to make change happen.

Often, the faster way to learn is to first go painstakingly slow.

Our impatience and our egos tempt us to take things at a quicker pace — with focus, intention, and repetition. (We’re too passionate to go any slower than this.) However, the end of this path is often passable but mediocre results.

Conversely, the serious student isn’t afraid to begin at an unimpressively novice speed. To learn the subject intimately. To know the house at its foundation.

And this deep, patient learning will indeed pay dividends.

I recently spent some time observing a red-tailed hawk. It was windy and the hawk’s feathers were being blown out of place.

The phrase “ruffling a few feathers” naturally came to mind.

While this usually indicates someone getting upset, I watched as the hawk sat calmly in place. After a few minutes, she turned to face the prevailing winds. As she adjusted her position, I caught a glimpse: four eggs.

* * *

In caring for others, how often do we find the strength to endure the harsh winds? How often do we find ourselves able to stand in the face of adversity? How often do we willingly sacrifice our own comfort?

Our cares, our passions, our vocations — they bring out our most resilient qualities.

As the story goes, Jeff Bezos once said to Warren Buffett, “Your investment thesis is so simple, and yet so brilliant. Why doesn’t everyone just copy you?”

To which Buffett replied, “Because nobody wants to get rich slow.”

Whether or not this interaction really happened (it’s nearly impossible to verify quotes like these) it’s a useful reminder.

Our natural leaning is toward quick solutions. The things that will feed us today. The schemes that will produce immediate returns. The short game.

But we know — and we can verify this by looking at our own history — the long games are are the games worth playing. Drip by drip. Slow and steady. Little and often.

This is the way a life is formed. This is the way we build things of value. Not overnight, but day by day, moment by moment.