I joked with the nursing staff about something clever I might put into the patient response, should the healthcare group send me a survey.

They laughed and said, “Oh, do it! We read survey responses at our weekly staff meetings! That would be amazing!”

I was surprised to hear this, but also encouraged. So many organizations distribute surveys. I often wonder who reads the responses, how they’re processed, and what comes of it.

Surely many surveys are aggregated and put into colorful charts for the C-suites and managers.

But in some places, the comments are read. What a great opportunity to be thoughtful, generous, and intentional in our writing.

Each time I glanced at the clock on the wall, the meeting felt longer.

After 45 minutes (and maybe my third time checking) I realized that the minute hand hadn’t moved at all; the clock had a dead battery.

Time can seem fleeting. Other times, it can drag on.

And sometimes, it’s really just a dead battery that causes our suffering.

The lesson: our emotions can be highly influenced by what time we think it is — regardless of the actual time.

When we sing “happy birthday” we sing it together, as a group.

It’s shared sentiment.

Do we individually have identical thoughts and feelings? No.

But we don’t each take turns singing a solo version. We sing it in unison.

Sometimes it’s not about us in particular; it’s about all of us together.

You could walk at night for a long time without once looking up to see the moon and stars.

You could stare at the moon and stars for a long time without once watching where you’re walking.

You could stare ahead for a long time without once diverting your gaze in any other direction.

* * *

Look down, look up, look ahead, and look around. There’s a time for each; none is exclusively paramount.

Having prepared is not the same as arriving prepared. That is, the long prep is not the same as the short prep.

Standing at the starting line of a 10K in your running shoes is being prepared. It’s not the same as having followed months of a training protocol.

Mustering courage and focus is being prepared. It’s not the same as having rehearsed and fine-tuned the performance.

Sharpening your Number 2 pencil is being prepared. It’s not the same as having studied for the test.

Preparation comes in many forms. Being really good at the short prep rarely compensates for having ignored the long prep.

There’s a lot of ritual, tradition, and protocol involved when the Catholic church selects a new pope. Part of this includes a conclave of electors sequestered in the Sistine Chapel. Before the doors are sealed, one of the prelates announces, “Extra omnes.” (Or sometimes, exeunt omnes.) That is, “Everybody out.” Only the voting cardinals remain.

This concept — everybody [else] out — is useful.

What happens when we (for a time) dismiss those who aren’t involved in the heart of the work? Or when we expel negative thoughts from our mind? Or when we politely distance ourselves from those who don’t believe in our endeavors? Or when we remove distractions? Or when we clear away what’s not useful?

When we oust all but what’s essential — be it physical, mental, or emotional — we create sacred space for the work at hand.

We often round for simplicity.

9.8 is a 10.
7.7 is an 8.
4.2 is a 4.

It’s easier this way.

And it’s tempting to start believing that the partials don’t count.

Four tenths? That’s not even half. It’s lost in rounding. Maybe not worth counting.

But do that 0.4 every day for a month, and it’s a cumulative twelve. And that’s not nothing.

There are always exceptions, but there are many areas were partials are plenty.

Or at least a start.

You can feel alone. Abandoned. Ignored.

Or you can feel accompanied. Connected. Loved.

Our world is often what we choose to see.

And, of course, the story we tell ourselves.

It’s possible to lose track of who we are. To completely lose our bearings. As though we’ve just woken up in the cockpit and the plane has been on autopilot.

It’s also possible to be fully aware of who we are and where we are. To feel and to know that we are right where we’re supposed to be. Where we want to be.

These two states can happen in a single season.

They can happen in a single day.

Having a gentle, judgement-free conversation about this — with ourselves — can help with the navigation.

Note where you are. Note how it fits. Don’t judge; just be curious.

Judgement bears a burden. Gossip, resentment, annoyance — these things have a cumulative weight. And unfortunately, it can be easy to fall into these modes.

Like a poor diet, the health effects aren’t usually immediate. Rather, they reveal themselves after we’ve developed long-standing patterns.

Then, the corrective work — should we choose to engage with it — takes time and serious commitment.

For other: “I want you to hear this.”

For self: “I need to hear myself say this.”

Even when the topic is not ourselves, what we say so often has to do with our own needs. So much that we don’t always concern ourselves with whether anyone is even listening.

We’ve heard the good advice: choose your battles.

This is helpful in our personal relationships, in our work interactions, and in our general engagement with the world.

And. We should choose our internal battles, too.

Some parts of our interior are not worth resisting; it’s not worth the fight.

(Even as I write this, I can feel myself squirm. Can I really accept what I consider a personal flaw? Can I say, “I’m not going to attend to that?” It’s not a comfortable feeling.)

This is not to say: abandon self-improvement.

Rather, it’s a caution: all battles have a cost. Even internal battles. We can’t fight all of them. We can remain aware of the issues, but we don’t always have to fight.

Remember: the reason we don’t fight every battle is so we can address the battles that are indeed worth fighting — external and internal.

When we ignore minor flaws and shoddy workmanship, things can appear to be finely crafted. Even when they’re not. There’s a clever phrase: “If you squint, it’s mint.”

And at times, there are good reasons for allowing a margin of slop.

But there’s a place, too, for precision and craft.

It’s the opposite of squinting. It’s: the closer you look, the more delighted you are by the exquisite attention to detail.

That kind of care doesn’t come with its own clever phrase.

We’ve recently had a run of storms: thunder, lightning, rain, high winds.

Monday morning, the skies were clear and blue, and the wet grass seemed greener than usual. The spring foliage seemed brighter than usual.

And maybe it was. But mostly, it was in contrast to the recent gray, dreariness.

Even more than the change itself, our own perspective changes how we experience what surrounds us.

* * *

We naturally notice difference. We’re attuned to shifts in patterns. We spot variations.

And this is a good thing. Even in dark times. We’re not gloom-seekers, but we can certainly be grateful for the way shadows make bright moments all the more glorious.

There’s a Spanish idiom that goes like this: “Camarón que se duerme, se lo lleva la corriente.”

The literal translation is: “A shrimp that falls asleep is carried away by the current.”

Many say that it’s the equivalent of “Don’t let opportunity pass you by,” or, “You snooze, you lose.”

But I think it’s more of a cautionary tale. And one we should heed.

If we don’t pay attention, it’s easy to just go with the flow. To follow wherever the culture shifts. To passively agree with whatever the group seems to think. To let the current carry us.

And there are certainly times to allow. To release. To let ourselves relax into the natural movement of things.

But we do so with intention, with timing, and with context.

Not as sleeping shrimp.

Because sometimes, we swim against the tide for good reason.

* * *

H/T Georgia

Every so often, attend a new event: a sport you haven’t watched, a competition you’ve never seen, an unfamiliar spectator event.

These occasions are excellent opportunities to learn, to be curious, and even to ask questions.

They’re also great reminders: we have individual areas of expertise. Some have dedicated years to learning a craft that others don’t even know exists.

We are all human and we’re incredibly diverse. The center of one’s interest may be far outside the scope of another.

So go explore. Be a newcomer. Enjoy the lessons.

We are people who often keep watch — even when there’s little we can do in the meantime.

We watch. We wait.

As though we’re preparing ourselves internally while the eternal elements organize themselves.

What is it you’re waiting for?

Imagine walking toward a bus stop. You’re still a good ways off, and the bus is about to depart. There are a few different thoughts you might have:

• I have to catch this bus.

• If I miss this bus, I’ll just catch the next one.

• This is the last bus, but I don’t mind walking.

• I’m going to miss the bus; I didn’t want to go anyway.

Each of these attitudes will result in different feelings. They each will elicit a different response. Our understanding of the situation, paired with our expectations, sets the level of drive (or panic).

* * *

In our daily work and our seasonal endeavors, we slot into these different modes. Much of it depends on our worldview and what we believe about opportunity.

If we think there’s a constant schedule of buses, we’ll respond differently than if we think there’s only one bus and we’re about to miss it.

We can’t live in constant “this is my one and only chance” mode. Likewise, it’s foolish to think that opportunities are plentiful, regular, and infinite.

Part of our challenge is figuring out the balance between hustle and rest, between impassioned drive and grace-filled release.

Sometimes, we seek something different, compared to what someone is offering. We want different response. A different attitude. A different way of engaging.

Other times, what we actually seek is for someone to be a different kind of person, compared to who they are. We want a different sensibility. A different natural tendency. A different personality.

Said another way, “I want you to act differently,” versus, “I want you to be a different person.”

There’s only room for negotiation in one of these situations.

Yes, we can sometimes convince people to change their mind. It’s not as likely that we will be able to change who they are — and certainly not in the short term.

Plan accordingly and measure your expectations.

The world has changed remarkably in the last 20 years. Locally, globally, personally, professionally. Fashion, technology, politics. In so many ways, we are all different people than we were twenty years ago. Perhaps even just five years ago. We’re the same, and we’re different. But change is constant, and over time, change is dramatic.

Yet some things can remain steadfast over time, if we choose. Our attitudes. Our habits. Our sense of humor. Parts of our personality.

And when we’re lucky, our commitments to each other.

Today, my wife and I celebrate twenty years of marriage. In April 2005, we promised faithfulness and love — in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad. We’ve indeed experienced all of that. Together.

It’s a blessing upon blessings.

This blog post can’t contain all the love I feel.

May the streaks you cherish also endure.