When we’re in emergency mode, in many ways, we operate at a high level. We’re focused. We’re nimble. We improvise. We take care of what's necessary and sideline the distractions.

But we’re not always in emergency mode.

Many times, really, we’re far from it.

Or we were in it, but the period as passed and we’ve forgotten to recalibrate.

We find ourselves juggling and reacting — not reflecting, not long-term planning, not taking the wider view.

Like the Japanese soldiers who continued fighting in the Philippines long after WWII had ended, we can occasionally miss the signals of peacetime.

We can do many great things on the fly … but we’re not always on the fly.

When we can, pausing to reset can be a useful practice.

At one local barber shop, a haircut costs $16. They don’t take appointments; walk-in only. They don’t take credit card payments; cash or check only. Start to finish, the haircut takes about ten minutes.

At another establishment, haircuts cost $35. They take walk-ins, but appointments are recommended. They wash your hair. They offer a hot towel. Start to finish, the haircut takes about half an hour.

In these examples, the question isn’t, “How much does a haircut cost?” It’s, “What do you get for what you pay?”

And the even bigger, underlying question: What do you want? Because both places serve happy customers.

Pricing is only part of the calculus.

As I approached the intersection, I noticed construction equipment and cones. I signaled to turn right. A road worker with a hard hat and a neon yellow vest took note of me. (Imagine a highway maintenance version of Sam Elliott.) With a big smile, a broad sweep of his right arm, and an exaggerated kick — as though to shoo me — he directed me through the intersection.

The next day, I was coming from a different direction. Again, I signaled. This time, with great seriousness and an obsequious bow, he spread his arms to usher me in the direction I desired.

You don’t have to be a magician to make the world a magical place. You just need a little effort and a light heart.

“You’re not the cause; you’re the recipient.”

I was gifted this piece of wisdom last week. It’s a helpful perspective when facing a challenge that’s fallen into our laps.

We can indeed make problems of our own — earning some stiff consequences — but it’s a relief to recognize no-fault situations.

We often still have the responsibility of addressing the problem, but we can navigate it without the burden of guilt, shame, and regret.

New perspective and a fresh attitude can make all the difference.

Sometimes we need to let one dream die so that another one can live.

Not only is it natural, it’s generous.

One in service of the other.

A sunset to make way for a new day.

With our phones and laptops, we don’t have to miss anything. As often as we choose, we have a window into happenings around the world.

With our phones and laptops, the only thing we’re missing is what’s happening right in front of us. (It is the greatest hidden cost.)

All that connection, all that information about the matters of life, and yet we risk missing the one life we get to live — our own.

I was about to pull into a wonderfully convenient parking space when I noticed something shiny near the curb. Was it clear plastic? A discarded wrapper?

Out of an abundance of caution, I put the car in park and got out to investigate.

It was glass — a broken bottle.

The lesson is one we likely know: look before you park. But it’s a metaphor, too. Where are you stopping? Where have you decided to camp for awhile? Are there some obvious (or not-so-obvious) risks involved?

Coda: if you’re curious, no, I did not park there. I parked down the street and went back to clear away the debris. It was an inconvenience, but doing the right thing isn’t always the same as doing the convenient thing.

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.