With medicine, the onset of action is the time between its administration and when the therapeutic effects are produced. For some drugs, the effect is immediate. For others, it takes a few hours. And for some medication, it takes weeks of continued use for noticeable changes to occur.

Some things take time.

There are many parallels here: exercise, practice, generosity, creativity …

Ten minutes of drawing. How does it feel? What about after a month of drawing daily?

Humming a tune. Does it take a week of humming? Or does it lift the spirits within a few moments?

Meditating. Does it work right away? Does it work better with sustained practice?

For everything we do, there’s an onset of action. Internal and external, local and global.

Sometimes, the onset is surprisingly quick.

Other times, we need patience and regular dosage.

Even if we work hard for something, we can still hold the thought, “I don’t deserve this.”

And even if we haven’t put forth any effort, we can still hold the thought, “But I deserve this.”

What we think we’re entitled to and where we feel unworthy — these beliefs can run deep. They’re the kind of beliefs where we have to catch ourselves and ask, “Is this really true?”

“[It is] the most repugnant thing I have ever seen or heard in all my life.”
— German pianist and composer, Clara Schumann, commenting on Wagner’s music drama, Tristan und Isolde.

* * *

Whether you agree or not, you might pause to appreciate the passion in the sentiment and the conviction of the opinion.

We need to feel deeply. We need to see, to experience, and to intimately know our own likes and dislikes.

As the maxim instructs: know thyself.

I had the opportunity to lose my temper yesterday. My time had been wasted and I saw with great clarity how the situation could have been avoided. Better communication, better planning, better organization …

I felt the anger rise in my chest.

And — I invited my body to relax.

Other than having a clear-headed conversation, that was the end of it.

Later, I considered the times I’ve given in to frustration. And the question: Was it worth it?

Invariably, the answer lands on the side of no.

I caught the end of the interaction. The crew member was confirming, “So, the one coffee, five sugars? Anything else?”

“No, that’s all. Thank you.”

* * *

How do we get here? Does one begin with five sugars? Probably not.

The starting point is likely one or two. But after awhile, there’s a normalization. We become acclimatized. Then, three hits the spot. And on special occasions, it’s four. Today, let’s go with five; a special treat.

Not every habit is at risk of runaway. And not every habit is unhealthy. Some are good for us.

Is a runaway habit good? Is it bad? It’s not always easy to say.

We have some built-in governors that can guide us, but it’s also helpful to keep our eye on areas that could use an adjustment. It might mean ramp-up. It might mean a reset.

The first step is taking a look.

With intention and focus, a skilled group can accomplish great things.

But without clear leadership, even a stellar team is limited in its ability.

It’s easy to think of life as a jigsaw puzzle. That once we find the missing pieces, we’ll feel fullness and contentment.

But it doesn’t really work out this way. Some pieces fit together surprisingly well while others are an unexpected mismatch. And some areas remain permanently void — noticeably blank.

What we learn is that the contentedness comes before the puzzle is finished. That the incompletion is part of its beauty. That what we create on our own is far more satisfying than the picture on the outside of the box.

We sometimes hope that life will present itself as a clear tutorial. Or maybe an entertaining documentary.

But life often shows up as a mystery. Or an avant-garde drama. Sometimes a comedy. Occasionally a tragedy.

While we can choose to play our role the way we want, the larger screenplay is not fully ours to write.

Some of the best advice we can take is the advice we offer to others. Some of the best advice we offer to others is the advice we ourselves end up ignoring.

There can be value in scrapping a draft. In making the call: this one isn’t going to work. Crumple it up. Toss it away. Delete.

A fresh start can be exactly what’s needed.

But be careful about doing this with time. That is, “This day can’t be salvaged. Start again tomorrow.”

Indeed, each day always comes to a close. And each night offers a natural reset.

But to call it quits too early — to abandon the whole day because of a few setbacks — is to miss the possibility of some third-act magic.

It’s a difficult reality: there’s not enough time to do everything we’d like to do. Not even if we focus only on the things worth doing. Because there are too many good causes, too many worthwhile opportunities, too many worthy endeavors.

Our interests are varied, possibility is endless, and time is unfairly finite.

All the more reason to choose what matters among what matters — and to eschew the distractions that artfully dupe us into forgetting what’s important and of value.

Nature abhors a vacuum. When it’s not happening easily, maybe the strategy shouldn’t be to force creativity — but to architect a vacuum into which creativity flows naturally.

We don’t really need to walk anywhere; there are enough cars and scooters and delivery options.

We don’t really need to retain knowledge; the internet is always available, and it can tell us whatever we need to know.

We don’t really need to generate ideas; AI can do that faster and more completely than we ever could.

And we’d be fools to follow these tempting paths to their ends.

Physical, mental, and creative atrophy are real.

Doing the work serves a purpose. Just because we can get the work done some easier way doesn’t always mean it’s the best choice.

Remember: the tools are in service of us living; they don’t exist to do the living for us.

Graduations are about endings.
Commencements are about beginnings.

Paperwork can tell a story about where we’ve been.
Our vision tells the story about where we’re going.

It’s good to pause to see how far we’ve come.
But life is the unfolding of how we respond to the present moment and the next.

So what will you do now?

Listen for the conversation that’s happening beneath the one being spoken aloud.

The one that’s trying to assert dominance, to express remorse, to communicate kindness, to acknowledge weakness, to show patience, to prove competence, to earn sympathy, to engage curiosity.

What we hear in our ears is only part of what’s happening.

Having the right tools can help.

But it’s not always about the quality of the tools.

In some situations, it’s about the confidence that having the right tools inspires.

That is, it’s not about the quality of the tools themselves; it’s more about the resultant quality of our mind.

One approach might be to remind yourself of past failures. To acknowledge personal shortcomings. To note any missing qualifications and lack of expertise.

Start there.

See what that gets you.

Alternatively, you can trust yourself. You can lean into the skills you already have. You can call to mind the many times you’ve done well. The times you’ve succeeded. The times you’ve created beauty. The times you’ve contributed to something remarkable.

With practice, we can default more often to this second way. And when we do, it becomes a virtuous cycle.

We can hold on to pessimism. We can bet against ourselves. But if we’re right, how does that help? And if we’re wrong, then what was the use?

Better instead to rally behind our best selves.

Whenever we use the phrase, “I should …” it’s worth pausing to trace its source.

Where does the “should” come from? What’s its origin?

When we discover it, we might carefully evaluate whether it deserves such influence.

If you can, create a small sanctuary that is your home.

And if you cannot, create a small sanctuary in a room within your home.

And if you cannot, create a small sanctuary in a corner of a room within your home.

And if you still cannot, then create a small sanctuary in your mind.

And if you still cannot, then choose a single thought whose wisdom can be your sanctuary whenever you seek its refuge.

How we start matters. Or at least, it can matter.

But there aren’t “starting races”. Because starting is not the purpose.

Races are about how we finish.

A strong finish makes a weak start forgettable. And a weak finish can make a strong start irrelevant.

Start strong if you’re able. Finish strong always.