When we move out of one place, we move into another.

When we shift out of one mode, we slot into another.

When we release one role, we adopt another.

We are the thread that ties it all together as the landscape shifts in a kaleidoscope of movement.

The reconfiguration can be unsettling, but it is the way of things. Pause to recognize the beauty in it.

One of the worst ways to become upset (and sometimes the most embarrassing) is through misunderstanding. Quickly jumping to:

I’ve been cheated!
I’ve been insulted!
I’ve been robbed!

If these feelings are followed by the realization: no you actually were not … then we’ve caused ourselves emotional distress all for nothing.

Clarity first. Then calm consideration.

What happened here? Was I wronged? Have I been injured in some way?

If the answer is yes, then feel what you feel.

But still: clarity first.

Radio Broadcaster Ken Sawyer tells us in ESPN’s Little League World Series documentary:

“Next thing you know … [they make a great play]. And you just see the whole change. We don’t ever know whether it changes them for five minutes — or for the rest of their lives.”

It is this way with so many bright moments. We just don’t know how far they will carry us. How deeply they will transform us. Maybe five minutes. Maybe for the rest of our lives.

Today — this day — has never happened before. And it will never happen again.

With our routines and habits, it’s easy for one day to blend into the next. Same as yesterday, same as the day before.

But indeed it is not.

We have not been here before.

This day, this moment … it’s new. Fresh. Never been experienced except for now.

Will you recognize it? Will you embrace it?

Because like all days, it’s fleeting.

Earlier today, my website was down. No known reason, just offline.

The problem only lasted a few minutes, but it reminded me of widespread power outages and the compulsory pauses that result.

Depending on our situation, those outages can be a gift.

Because momentarily dialing our expectations back to zero can be a welcome breath.

For this moment, nothing is required of me — just that I am is enough.

We don’t need a blip in the system to give ourselves that kind of break. We can build it into part of each day. The world will likely not even take notice, but it could make all the difference for our internal selves.

While we sometimes fear the consequences of telling the truth, we don’t always anticipate the consequences of telling a lie.

Whether we tell them to ourselves or we tell them to others, truths and lies each have their reverberations.

It’s certainly not true in all domains, but sometimes, the paperwork is a luxury. A formality that allows for sorting. A game of who’s-played-the-game and what did they win. A record of a time that has long since passed.

Because you can do a lot of things without permission. A lot of things without formal approval. A lot of things without everyone agreeing that you’re qualified.

You need special training to be a lifeguard; but someone struggling to swim won’t ask for your credentials.

You need a degree to teach art in a high school; but there are no prerequisites for making drawings with your nephew.

You need licensure to practice therapy; but a trusted friend will welcome careful listening and thoughtful advice.

Don’t underestimate yourself just because you might not be fully accredited. There’s much good that you can still do.

Gratitude does not stand alone; it multiples. One realization begets another.

Grateful for this, which is connected to that, which is made possible by this other thing … and it goes on and on.

Startlingly, in dark moments we don’t see any of it.

So we have to be committed: find one thing.

The rest will flow.

Every so often (maybe more often?) put away the red pen. Pause the tendency to find errors, to make judgements, to find corrections, to offer suggestions.

Just accept. Just allow.

Both through the window and in the mirror.

Because there’s a cost to holding the red pen, and we can choose to relieve ourselves of its burden.

I accidentally tipped over a desktop organizer, and its contents evacuated their sections. Pens, pencils, markers, brushes, cutting tools, small dowels, a few lengths of wire — all went sprawling.

I grimaced in surprise.

Then I got to work cleaning up.

As I did, it felt like a gentle reminder. When things fall apart, it’s an opportunity for us to pick up the pieces and reorganize. Maybe even for the better.

A lesson in tools, and a lesson in life.

You can finish strong, even when losing is inevitable.

And it’s possible to win while finishing poorly.

How we choose to play is how we choose to play; it’s separate from whether we ultimately win or lose.

In our time, we see all the things we can do nothing about. High-resolution galleries of problems we have no chance of touching. Exhibits whose lights never dim.

But we can’t resign in despair.

The solution is to bring our focus closer to home. To act locally. To appreciate that our our concern may be global, but that often, our best chances to bring about positive change are within arm’s reach.

When you pause to listen, what do you hear?

… when your attention is directed outward?

… when your attention is directed inward?

What do you hear?

And who are you as you listen? Because each role we play has a different set of ears.

H/T A&K

If you examined every human on the planet, the average number of arms is less than two.

Mathematical averages don’t always convey what’s typical.

And sometimes, knowing the average isn’t even helpful.

Here’s something to do.

Choose something in nature (or from nature) and look at it carefully.

Really carefully.

All of its qualities. All of its details. From every possible angle.

For five minutes. Five full minutes.

Uninterrupted.

Don’t worry. You attend to screens and pages for hours; you won’t miss these five minutes.

But it will feel like a long time.

Because many of us don’t often pause to look — to really look. To establish visual intimacy with an object. To know its physical existence in this world. To appreciate it more fully.

But we could.

Because looking is a skill worthy of continuous development.

One of the principles of juggling is catching what you toss. More strategically, tossing in such a way that you can easily catch what you’ve thrown.

This ends up being a lot like life. We can juggle fluidly, or we can make it challenging.

It’s distinct from now many items we’re juggling at one time. Rather, it’s how we set ourselves up for what we’ll ultimately be resolving.

Said another way: we’re often the architects of our own challenges. Some of our designs are elegant, and others are a mess of our own making.

With any periodic, ongoing activity, we have choices: stop, continue, or adjust.

Habits, streaks, commitments … aside from the most legally binding obligations, we have options. Assuming we’re not incarcerated or otherwise held hostage, we get to choose whether to continue.

This does not have to be a daily debate. For instance, we can begin a daily meditation practice and we don’t have to second-guess the choice each morning. Instead, we can intentionally maintain the habit — even slipping into autopilot regarding its continuation.

But every activity (healthy or otherwise) merits occasional review. The question, “Is this serving me well?” is an excellent starting point. When the answer is anything but yes, it’s a good time to carefully and thoughtfully consider our options.

It’s tempting to put a lot of effort into planning extraordinary experiences.

But so much of the good life is found through ordinary experiences spent with extraordinary people.

How you handle the feedback can have a more lasting effect than the act that earned its response.

“Do you want to go for a walk???”

This phrase — along with me getting my shoes — elevates our dog’s excitement to a near ten. It’s about same effect as using the word, “treat.”

Not that we’re dogs, but certainly, we should organize our lives such that we can have this kind of joyous anticipation. Regularly.