A dentist should have great teeth.
A barber should have a great haircut.

The funny thing is, for the most part, dentists and barbers don’t do work on themselves.

But we expect people in the business to have their houses in order.

How we present ourselves isn’t always indicative of the skills we bring to the table. Sometimes it’s just part of the show people expect to see.

How are you?

It’s a relevant question, and one that we’re asked often. Sometimes people care to know the answer. Other times, it’s asked in passing.

Now then. Who are you?

Not your name. Not your position. Rather, the you that resides beneath these labels.

Pause to notice: it’s all too easy to mix up who we are with how we are. For better or worse.

But they’re not the same.

How we are in a given moment does not always reflect who we are.

The variable texture of the surface can mask the true nature of the depths.

When you’re thinking really hard for something to say, you’ll eventually come up with something.

Also important to note: our mouths have a soundless “closed feature” that comes in handy when what we’ve come up with isn’t particularly helpful.

Words aren’t always necessary; sometimes the way forward is wordless.

The nurse in the post-surgical recovery area said to her patient, “You are an all-star. I’d love for all my patients to be like you.”

Which prompts the question: what does it mean for us to be an all-star patient? It certainly doesn’t mean that we’re not ill, or that we’re not in need of medical assistance. No. It’s about what we can control. It’s about our attitude. About our fight. About our friendliness and willingness to cooperate.

Even through struggle. Even amidst hardship. Even when we’re vulnerable.

To be the kind of person that others appreciate doesn’t require us to be perfect, or even feeling our best. It’s about how we show up with what we have.

I was at a sporting event where a teenage athlete used obscene language and was promptly ejected from the game. The official acted without hesitation.

I looked. Sure enough, the venue’s rules and regulations were clear about player, fan, and staff conduct. Consequences were crystal, too.

What I appreciated about the experience was the clear establishment of a kind of culture. “This is what we expect. This is what’s OK. This is what’s unacceptable.”

That kind of clarity keeps everyone in sync. It also skips past the awkwardness of people quietly asking, “Is this allowed? Why isn’t someone doing something about this?”

Culture is about how we do things. It’s also about what we’ve decided we don’t do.

Sometimes, you just get beat. You’re outsized and outmatched. Winning isn’t a likely possibility. But if you play your best, you can still hold your head high.

The tough ones are when you lose. When you had your opportunity and you just didn’t do the job. For whatever reason. Those are the ones you wish you could get back, because you had a real chance.

Not all losses are equal. Some sting a little more. Some should sting a little less.

If we’re honest, sometimes what we seek is for someone to say, “I hear you. That’s a tough situation. Gosh.”

Because it’s a lot harder to hear, “What do you seek to change? Let’s explore this together to find some solutions. What steps are you ready to take? Let’s put a plan into action.”

Misery loves company, it does not love strategic framework and practical solutions.

So we first have to figure out: is the problem that we don’t feel seen, or is the problem that we’re not ready to be problem solvers?

Haste makes waste.

Sometimes.

But the opposite approach — methodical planning — can become a place for us to hide.

Avoiding the risks of speed can easily become a habit of embracing reluctance and hesitation.

Haste makes waste, but haste also makes movement. And often, movement is just what we need to begin.

You’ll miss a lot of silver linings if the only thing you value is gold.

Listen to the story you tell yourself. Cheery when things go your way. Sullen when they don’t. It’s right when luck is on your side. It’s unfair when luck goes the other way.

But finding peace no matter the outcome — this is the true test. To accept what is, whether it’s what we wanted or not.

(Even if it prompts us to work for change.)

When creativity feels challenging, it’s not because of the source; the source is infinite.

When the ideas are sluggish or the conduit is empty, look for kinks.

Like a pinched garden hose, we just need to address the kinks to release what seeks expression.

The host, the venue, the food and drinks — these are only part of the equation; the reality is, great parties are because of great guests.

Look back.

Even further.

Take inventory.

So many chapters …

Might there be a part of you that begs to be reawakened?

Are there dance shoes in the closet? A bicycle hanging from the rafters? A set of art supplies on the shelf? A too-long-quiet piano? A forgotten book? A forgotten laugh?

Sometimes, what we choose to reawaken, reawakens us.

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.