Your struggle today is not mine. And my struggle today is not yours.

Our laughter and tears, joys and sorrows — they do not always align.

Yet we see each other and there is a knowing.

We are not synchronous but for our deep, mutual care.

We are together because of it.

Between what’s known and what’s unknown, each of us finds a usual balance. Some slot into routines, sticking to a set pattern — a kind of fixed menu. Others prefer a continual influx of new and never-tried. It’s different for everyone.

The trouble comes at the edges of the spectrum.

When we’re tightly coupled to a predetermined selection, there’s no room for discovery. Meaning: there’s little opportunity to find new favorites.

On the other side of it, when we’re constantly seeking out what’s new, there can be a kind of emptiness. The excitement of curiosity can become a desperate search for the next best thing.

So from time to time, it’s helpful to shift modes. To introduce new things, which could become new delights — or to camp a bit on what’s known to us, allowing a deeper appreciation for what is.

Amateurs don’t have time for fundamentals; professionals practice the fundamentals regularly.

We don’t begin with calculus. Not even the most basic calculus.

We begin with general concepts like “more” and “how many.” Then, counting and shapes. And we build upon those fundamentals.

To start with simple algebra, simple trigonometry, simple geometry, and simple calculus — skipping the fundamentals of how numbers work — is to build on a non-existent foundation.

When we find ourselves at a point of confusion or frustration in a given endeavor, it’s worth asking, “Did I begin by mastering the fundamentals?”

H/T MB

Sales Associate: “Would you be interested in trading in your vehicle for the newest model? We have one on the lot. I see you have low mileage and we’d be happy to have your pre-owned vehicle in our inventory.”

Me: “I’m sure you would. But the person who’d buy that low-mileage used vehicle is me. And I already own it.”

Sometimes what you want is actually what you already have. Others might try to convince you otherwise. Don’t be swayed.

“I want to work hard but I’m not especially focused on the outcomes.”
“I want certain outcomes but I’m not especially focused on working hard.”

The first is a sustainable, rewarding practice.

The second is a setup for disappointment.

Get used to doing the work. Fall in love with it if you can and it won’t really feel like work.

Consider the overall size of a bicycle. Now consider its stopping mechanism: brake pads that are a fraction of the overall size.

It’s a two-sided metaphor. In one sense, a little bit of pressure in the right place brings everything to halt. But also, relieving that little bit of pressure allows things to move freely once again.

In our lives, when we know where to push and where to release, we can influence the entire system.

I have a few friends who live in Asheville, North Carolina. They’ve been top of mind and close to heart for the past week.

Frank, a painter, has begun what will be a long journey in resurrecting Marshall High Studios — a historic brick schoolhouse that houses twenty-six artists’ studios. The building was hit hard by flood waters.

Frank’s mantra of late: “This is a little better.”

Bailing water, shoveling mud from hallways, removing debris — all of it together seems insurmountable. But making a small bit of progress here and there starts to make a significant impact.

Consistently working for “a little better” is how we move toward a lot better.

If the system is working slowly, it’s often a good idea to close the programs you’re no longer using. You can try restarting various processes too.

When those things don’t help, try a soft reset. Shut it down completely, then restart after a short time.

It might be a good idea to check for viruses, too, but try the simpler steps first.

Of course, this is advice about your body and your mind, but it can also be applied effectively to various computers and devices too.

Begin with the inside work. Begin with the content.

It’s far too easy to get caught up in choosing pretty wrappers.

But how important is the car color if the engine doesn’t run properly? Or the font choice if the study has flawed logic? Or the wardrobe if the presentation lacks substance?

Polish is a necessary step, but it’s not where we begin.

People who don’t complain are not without complaint — they just handle struggle and disappointment in a different way.

How we process what happens in the world around us and how we choose to respond … it’s always our choice.

The question isn’t: “What can you do on a good day when everything is going your way?”

The question is: “What can you do when everything falls apart?”

Our peak might be possible in fair weather, but our depth is defined by adversity.

More often than I should, I blindly trust GPS directions. That is, I don’t preview the route in full detail before setting off.

I recently found myself on a winding mountain road. As I drove, I wondered if the trip would’ve been easier had I chosen the slightly longer (but much straighter) highway route instead. Even as I thought this, I caught myself. I wasn’t appreciating the changing leaves and the mountainous landscape; I was musing about what it would have been like to be on another road.

It seems like an appropriate metaphor. There’s so much beauty and wonder that surrounds us. To spend time imagining paths we didn’t take is to ignore the gifts of the path we’ve chosen.

When you can pause and calm yourself, you’ve changed everything. And yet the world hasn’t changed at all; it’s the same as it was when you were distressed.

But through equanimity — by finding and cultivating peace within your own mind — the world has changed indeed.

Here’s to seeking such peace more regularly.

When the fear of making a mistake keeps you from taking action — that in itself can be a mistake.

Remember: you’ve weathered every mistake you’ve ever made.

The world doesn’t need your perfection … it needs your participation.

Sometimes adulthood is about age.

But more often, it’s about how we act. How we put aside childish things. How we attend to what matters.

And even as adults — doing our adulting things — we can be child-like in our joy, creativity, and zest for life.

(Some of my favorite people are still just kids in adult bodies.)

* * *

HBd, Evie!

Coach: “Did you do your homework? Have you been doing the drills?”
Student: [quietly] “No.”
Coach: [aside] “Ahhh … they never like to admit it loudly.”

* * *

We’re naturally subdued when conceding that we haven’t done what we ought. There’s some shame in it.

Perhaps the thing to do is to organize our lives in such a way that we’re more often pleased to share what we’ve done, and less often sheepish to admit what we haven’t.

Journey to the West, a 16th Century Chinese novel attributed to Wu Cheng'en, includes this passage:

Do good a thousand days,
But the good is still insufficient;
Do evil for one day,
And that evil is already excessive.

A simple, guiding truth with the resonance of five hundred years. It’s worth taking to heart.

Keep doing good.

* * *

Hat tip to my father, who recently shared this quote with me. Thanks, Dad.

We learn much more when we lose than when we win.

It would be fun if we could always win and learn at the same time.

But it doesn’t work that way.

This is why it’s so important to reframe our failures.

Losing is learning, and learning leads to more opportunities to win.

There’s an idea in golf: professionals underreact, amateurs overreact.

We can imagine what this looks like. Recovering from errant shots. Sticking with the game plan. Responding with level-headed strategy rather than unbridled emotion.

This, compared to making bad things worse. To spiraling out of control. To losing perspective. To acting irrationally.

Underreaction: it's an approach that could serve us well in so many areas of life.