Fire and brimstone can earn you a lot of attention. It might even gain compliance.

But mostly, it burns the exterior and erodes the interior.

The harder work is through encouragement. Through gaining enrollment. Through collaboration and nurturing the interior.

The results might seem similar, but the methods and outcomes are worlds apart.

With three children in the house, various belongings are often left where they don’t belong. For two weeks or so, I’ve noticed someone’s jacket by the back door, draped over a Wiffle ball bat. I’ve wondered: Which of my children has a blue jacket that looks like mine?

Last night, I noticed the jacket again and had a moment of realization. And indeed, the jacket was my own. (I still have no recollection of having left it there, though I’m sure I did.)

We can be quick to find others as the source of a problem — and a bit slower to identify the roles that we ourselves play. It’s easy to tag a problem as foreign when we don’t recognize our own participation.

It can certainly be about skill; often it is.

But so many times, the more consequential differentiators are desire, grit, and attitude. Skill is just one part of what it takes to win.

Getting what we want also means inheriting the consequences — benefits and burdens both.

Occasionally, those who love us will offer guidance when we’re unable (or unwilling) to see those consequences. Because the eagerness of getting what we want can dim our vision of what happens afterwards.

We foster community by cheerfully saying, “Hello!” By saying — before we even know each other — “I’m glad you’re here.” By learning names. By welcoming strangers.

Community doesn’t happen accidentally. It happens through small, intentional acts, little by little.

Sometimes, it doesn’t take long at all.

We don’t need to start strong, but it helps. Because with a strong start, we begin to tell ourselves a story of victory, achievement, and positive outcomes.

And when we can first see it in our mind, reality often begins to bend in that direction.

There’s a massive tree in my neighborhood. The sturdy trunk is so large, I can barely reach my arms halfway around it. And its crown? Majestic.

I marvel at the thought: this was once a sapling. No, even a seedling. And a seed!

The life progression is clear and undeniable, yet it still seems impossible. Once so small. So vulnerable. So uncertain. And now, undeniably present.

Like so many of our projects, endeavors, and relationships — what is now in full maturity was once just a whisper of life.

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.