We often work intentionally to see things clearly. Clarity feels virtuous in this way.

It also suggests singularity.

But what happens when we work instead to see things differently? To intentionally unsettle our point of view? Not just to be open, but to have an active curiosity about diverse perspectives. To exercise seeing differently in the same way we’d develop a skill.

It’s not forgetting our initial perspective. Rather, it’s about exploring other angles. Like investigating the underside of a table. Or clearing a room entirely to see it plainly for the first time in years.

* * *

When we change how we see, the world changes indeed.

Like a slow-working marinade, we can begin to take on the characteristics of our surroundings.

But there is another possibility.

We can cultivate from within. We ourselves can be the agent of change.

After a heavy storm, many light branches and sticks littered our yard and street. My wife and I gave our youngest son an opportunity: ten cents per stick. A simple chore, a little lesson in labor and earning.

Turns out, the parents were the ones who were going to be learning.

After collecting what he determined to be $20 worth of sticks, we realized there were some details that should have been clarified from the start:

1. You can’t break sticks in half to double their value.

2. You can’t collect sticks from other people’s yards.

3. You can’t collect sticks from down the street.

4. We’re not considering 2-inch twigs “sticks”. (Though we resolved that five twigs shorter than 6-inches would be valued as one full stick.)

The final payment hasn’t been made; the various parties and representatives are still in negotiations.

Our lesson in employment turned out to be a lesson in contracts, terms, and conditions.

With a ten-year-old.

Details matter.

When ideas are scarce, it’s often not a problem of source; it’s a problem of flow.

That is, we sometimes filter ideas before they even draw breath. We’re so stringent, so quick to judge, so ready to delete — that the air remains void.

Like our generative minds are quieted with each nascent offering.

The practice then, is to relax and release. To allow. To open the conduits.

Some of the better ideas become evident when we allow even the weaker ideas a bit of space.

The introduction to Parker J. Palmer’s 25th anniversary edition of Let your Life Speak includes this salient passage:

“I’ve learned more from my missteps and defeats than from my successes. When I succeed, I do little more than congratulate myself. When I fail, I slow down and think, trying to learn what I can about myself and the world in hope of not making that kind of mistake again.”

It resonated.

Any one of us can work to avoid repeating mistakes. The wise choose to do so through the lens of humility, curiosity, and discovery.

A stumble near the finish can be devastating — not just because the possibility of victory evaporates, but because our perspective shifts. One trip-up and we become failure-focused. Gone from our mind are the early wins, the hard-won triumphs, the whole history of our achievements. A stumble can leave us fully focused on loss and defeat.

Honor the feelings that come from disappointment. But then recall the journey. Celebrate its arc. Remember the highlights.

Don’t dismiss the entire day just because you didn’t get the sunset you wanted.

Just because it runs like clockwork doesn’t mean you don’t have to wind the clock.

Why isn’t the autopilot feature working properly?

It could be that the pilot is still in his pajamas, eating breakfast.

Because there are times when it’s too early to ask the robots to take over.

Because the easy button is a shortcut that doesn’t always deliver satisfactory results.

Because even the best tools don’t necessarily eliminate the need for our participation.

* * *

Automation can be a valuable option; it’s not typically step one.

Experts say that in an emergency situation, when you need someone to call 9-1-1, there’s a better way than shouting, “Somebody call 9-1-1!” (Though this is instinctually the thing to say because it’s exactly what you need.)

Instead, the advice is to identify someone specifically, and to address them directly: “[You:] I need you to call 9-1-1.”

See the shift?

When we need “someone” to do something, no one takes ownership of the task. “‘Someone’ could be anyone, not necessarily me.” Said another way: on these occasions, don’t rely on people to self-select.

There are many non-emergency situations where we might borrow from this model.

Instead of, “We need a volunteer,” it’s, “Alex, are you able to help?”

Instead of, “Can someone email the customer?” it’s, “Morgan, can you please email the customer?”

Instead of, “I need help,” it’s “Can you please help me?”

There are times when giving others the opportunity to rise to the occasion on their own is generous.

It can also be useful to know we can bypass this dance with a more direct route when it’s appropriate.

Praise those who shine, but don’t forget to give credit to those who were instrumental in making it possible. Those who cultivated the soil. Those who set the stage. Those who created the opportunities.

The coaches, the mentors, the guides.

The flowers do the work of blooming, and we are awed. Moved. Inspired.

But remember, too, the quiet gardeners.

“Who’s it for? What’s it for?”

These are two of the most important questions we can ask when planning and facilitating. And when you’re familiar with these questions, you’ll find yourself using them as a point of reference — a lens of evaluation.

So often, we fall into the trap of doing things like they’ve been done before. Of following the perceived protocol. Of getting all the way to the end without pausing to ask, “Why are we doing this?” and “What’s the best way to accomplish our goal?”

Operating at the level of “repeat” or “whatever people usually do” is much easier — and it might be safer — but we’re likely missing some remarkable opportunities to do things even better.

In various ball sports, there’s a practice drill called “knock out.” You miss the ball or bobble it and you’re out. Make a bad pass, you’re out. Meanwhile, everyone else continues to play.

There’s competition and a winner, but there’s also an irony: the players who seemingly need more reps and improved skills are the players who tend to get knocked out.

The winners keep playing and the players keep getting better.

We’ll lose from time to time, that’s for sure. The thing to do is to get back in the game so you can keep playing and keep getting better.

In Michelangelo’s fresco, The Creation of Adam, we see God — with a whirlwind of energy and surrounding figures — stretching out his arm, reaching with an index finger to invigorate Adam with the spark of life.

Adam, reclined, barely lifts his own index finger in response.

Sometimes the world teems with opportunity, possibility, and support — energy beyond measure — and in our limited humanness, we can only offer a weak reply.

Thankfully, creation is patient, and will partner with us regardless.

H/T Fr. Mike Schmitz

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.