How do you move a bookstore? One book at a time.

At least, that’s how Serendipity Books did it in Chelsea, Michigan.

A team of 300 volunteers formed two human chains, and for two hours, they passed 9,100 books and hundreds of boxes, hand to hand, down the sidewalk.

Sometimes the most effective way to make a big change is little by little with a lot of helping hands.

H/T: The Sun Times News

“For all that has been, thanks! For all that will be, yes!”

(From the published journal of Swedish economist Dag Hammarskjöld, who served as the second Secretary-General of the United Nations.)

Listen again: “For all that has been, thanks! For all that will be, yes!”

Can our vision be wide enough to feel such gratitude? Can we trust enough to embrace the unknown future?

To be thankful for the good and the bad, the joys and the sorrows. And to be confident and hopeful in whatever may come.

It’s a mindset work considering.

“Won with the first attempt.”

or

“After trying and failing for years, coming so close and watching it slip away, questioning whether victory would ever be achieved … finally won.”

Both stories end with trophies, but one is a tale that will be told for years to come.

A win is a win, but hard-won victories are best.

At times, the pantry is full, but we find ourselves living on crumbs.

We might have even fallen into a crumb-focused rhythm without realizing it.

And yet the pantry is full.

Pause. Take inventory. Soak it in. Then eat.

It’s like the practice of mindful breathing. A deep, belly breath quickly brings awareness to what was an unconscious, shallow pattern.

So take a moment. Scoop a full measure.

Allow yourself to be filled.

Sometimes, all we need is for someone to witness. To be present to us and — if words are spoken — to listen.

Not to solve. Not to advise. Not to comment. Not to fix. Not even to understand.

Only to witness.

That simple presence is an act of love.

Often, it is enough.

And we’re all capable of giving such a gift.

Consider the influence of each:

• A broken finger

• A headache

• A sore elbow

• A herniated disk

• A failing kidney

Sometimes our trouble remains localized. Other times, a local trauma sends ripples through the whole system. Location matters. The network matters.

And there are parallels in the creative process, in our work, and in our personal projects.

The good thing is that the phenomenon can work both ways. The balm. The nourishment. The healing. When certain areas are nurtured, they can change the entire system too.

One of our tasks is to understand ourselves. To identify the systemic levers. And when we can, to invest in those areas that will yield positive change for the whole self.

Foive, fieve, fife, fahv, fie …

I could say the word “five” in many ways. If you hear the context, and if you’re willing, you’ll understand.

That is, we might walk together.

But if your ear is hardened and you’re firm, you won’t hear it. You’ll argue, “I don’t know what ‘foive’ means.” And for lack of perfect articulation and enunciation, the message will be lost.

To have a softer ear, a more sensitive ear, a more generous ear — is to be open to the lessons the world is aching to teach us.

When it’s appropriate, a good mentor has the ability to advise: “You can figure this out by yourself,” or, “I think you already know the answer to your question.”

ChatGPT and other AI models aren’t typically trained to do this. They’re designed to provide answers, not to remove themselves from the process.

And sometimes what we need is to be redirected inward. To seek our answers not from the Robot, but from within. We might even learn that our questions have no answers. Sitting with that tension could be the very thing we need to do.

As I watched a jogger slow to a walk, I wondered what I often wonder from time to time — perhaps have even written about: what’s this moment I’m seeing?

Is he at the end of a short run? Is he finishing a long run? Maybe a 10K? Is he taking a short break before starting again? Maybe he had just been sprinting …

The truth was outside my scope. I only had the story I had invented based on a tiny sliver of time.

And this is like so many experiences in life. We catch an infinitesimal piece of someone’s life. A note within a symphony. And we build a story around what we think we’ve witnessed.

And sometimes I bet we get some of it right. But more often, we surely get it wrong on many counts.

We are storytellers. We’re inventors. It’s part of our nature. But it’s also useful to be conscious of this quality of our creative minds. The stories we tell — based on what we think we see — are stories we’ve written. And it’s easy to end up with more fiction than fact.

Greener every day.

Spring brings new life. Things are growing and greening.

All good news for those awaiting the season’s warmth.

For a small repair shop with a backlog of customers’ trimmers to fix, the green-up can evoke other feelings.

We all have a perspective.

So many celebrations in life are celebrations of life.

The promise of new life. The appreciation of long life. The joy of shared life.

* * *

My mother-in-law is ninety today. She’s an active, healthy, sharp-minded, generous, well-loved inspiration to many. A reader of this blog, too. Happy Birthday! May we all live so well.

If you’re generating ideas and your well has run dry, it’s worth considering what the wider team has to say.

The larger group will have more ideas, different perspectives, and new energy.

They’ll also bring a lot of bad ideas. Ideas you’ve vetted and discarded. Ideas that are a distraction.

But this is no surprise. Measure your expectations. If you’ve filtered through your own bad ideas (to discover viable options) others will need to do the same. Let them. It’s part of the process.

If the good ideas were already known, we wouldn’t be asking for more ideas.

Underinflated and overinflated tires degrade prematurely; proper inflation is optimal.

80% inflation is functional, but wear and tear will increase.

50% inflation might work, but only for a short time.

And 120% inflation is potentially dangerous.

In place of inflation, substitute sleep, energy, or effort.

When our trends hover around the optimal range, we thrive.

When we cheat the system high or low, we’ll eventually find ourselves in need of repair.

I recently visited a local park. The weather was nice, and I had taken my lunch to a sunny picnic bench. I have two takeaways from that experience.

First, I was surprised by the number of people sitting in parked cars. The parking lot had seven vehicles; six of them had drivers eating or looking at their phones. The seventh vehicle was mine.

The second takeaway has to do with what I noticed while I ate. A shiny piece of metal on one of the trees caught my eye. It was a small, numbered aluminum tag. As I looked around, I noticed other trees with tags. Were all of them tagged?

My thought was this: someone tends to these trees. They’re cared for. Managed. Maintained.

To the casual passerby, it’s just a park with trees. But they’re not just any trees. They are trees that are known individually. Cared for individually. Loved individually?

I was glad to choose a bench over a driver’s seat, and glad to pause long enough to notice the trees.

Materials dry in stages. (Think: paint, clay, and concrete.)

In the first few minutes and hours, things begin to settle. Viscosities change. Surfaces might generate a skin. What was soft becomes firm.

Most of the drying happens up front. The curing, however — the gradual movement toward maximal hardness — that takes much longer. Maybe days. Maybe weeks.

We can make the mistake of thinking that we’re like these materials. That we’ve been molded and formed. Indeed, it’s a useful metaphor. But the metaphor can also imply that we’re in the final stages of hardening. That we’re locked in.

And we’re not.

We’re as pliable as we’d like to be. We can change our mind. We can change our approach. We can change our selves.

We can soften and we can change.

If we choose.

Strategy One: Voice your struggles aloud. Whine so that others can hear. Increase the volume. Wait to see if someone comes to your aid.

Strategy Two: Seek out someone who is capable of helping. Ask them directly.

The first strategy — in a strange way — deflects vulnerability. It relieves some pressure by letting us vent while simultaneously avoiding the awkwardness of saying directly, “I need help.” By whining, there’s no request. No ask. No transaction. Rather, it’s a bet on pity. “I didn’t ask for help, yet here you are.” Magic.

The second strategy — the better approach — takes courage. It can take humility. It can call for vulnerability. But it’s the way that is more likely to produce results.

Perhaps when we whine we feel less in debt when we receive help. After all, we never really asked for it.

But “debt” is a curious thing when it comes to assistance. Many times, when we help, we ourselves are helped. We reap benefits from our own generosity. That well-known phrase from St. Francis of Assisi, it is in giving that we receive … it’s true.

Don’t be afraid to ask for help. Don’t be afraid to give it.

In this chapter of your existence, you inhabit one, imperfect, ever-aging vessel. Care for it. Tend to its needs.

It can improve, yes. It can heal, surely. But it has its limits.

Love it well; it’s yours.

“This is how we do things here.”

This phrase can be delivered in so many ways. It can be helpful. Generous. Welcoming. Instructive. Threatening. Alienating. Combative …

“This is how we do things here.”

This phrase can be received in so many ways. With relief. Surprise. Gratitude. Embarrassment. Offense. Fear. Anger …

As with much of language, there’s a lot of nuance. And intention plays a huge roll.

“You seem lost. I’d like to help you fit in easily,” versus, “You’re different. Get right or get out.”

How we do things is about culture and norms. How we communicate how we do things tells a lot about our desire to be welcoming, our capacity for empathy, and our ability to be flexible.

If you don’t feel like showering and getting ready for the day, pour a glass of juice.

Then, dump it on yourself.

Of course, this will create other problems, but it will surely motivate you regarding the shower.

Sometimes, we need to manufacture motivation. We need to take a small, irreversible step that becomes the catalyst for the work we know we need to do.

This might be accomplished by imagining that step — calling it to mind and visualizing it. This could be enough to get ourselves going in the right direction.

Other times, the only thing that works is to start by making a mess.

Consider the whoosh that happens when you quickly swing a long stick. Or the small sonic boom that occurs when a whip cracks. Both of these instances involve an arc, a moment of acceleration, and a climax in activity.

What does this look like in the arc of your day? Or the arc of your efforts?

Where is that moment? When is it? What is it like?

It doesn’t happen in every instance. The wave of a hand is not a clap. A meditative moment has no interest in sonic booms. A burst of activity is even a misstep in some settings.

But there are times when a whoosh — or even a speedier crack — makes sense. Perhaps we call it into being often. Or maybe it’s carefully reserved for specific times.

If we want, we can organize our energy evenly, or such that we curate an occasional explosive rush.

What sort of rhythm might you choose?