In casual activities, hobby sports, and games of skill … it’s quite possible to begin feeling entitled to results we haven’t earned.

Because “this should be easy” or “I should be able to it.”

Meanwhile, we might not have worked to develop the requisite skills.

Not being a serious student is perfectly fine. We can be enthusiasts or participants without hard-won mastery.

But when we haven’t put in the work, we really should align our expectations.

And in loosening our grip, it will likely be more fun.

A recent text exchange with my daughter:

Me: We might want to load the car early, before it rains.
D: okay
Me: Or we can just get wet.
D: Or we could just become waterproof.

* * *

Sometimes we need simple, hardy resilience.

Other times — better times — what propels our spirit is a radical sense of possibility.

When the ground becomes too dry, too firm, too unyielding — even a heavy rainfall will struggle to nourish it.

But soil that is soft, fertile, and receptive will take what the rain gives.

So too with us: if we allow ourselves to become too calloused and stony, what’s intended for our good will just become runoff.

Our challenge is to (with practice and intention) remain firm enough to hold our shape, but soft enough to receive.

If you have a lot of wishes, then it’s a good idea to also have goals, plans, and commitments.

Because wishes tend to mature into disappointments if we don’t match them with intentional effort.

If you’re reading this blog post, life is good.

It’s not to say there aren’t challenges. Not to say there isn’t struggle. Or hardship or difficulty. Or even an occasional feeling of impossibility. But there’s goodness, too. Maybe a lot of it. And this moment — this moment where you can be reading these words — that’s perhaps a sign of it.

And this is worth noting.

If you care enough to (truly) want to know how someone is doing … you have to ask them. Not just in passing. Not just once. But regularly, over time, as you simultaneously build trust.

And you have to listen.

And respond when appropriate.

“I had no idea” happens, but “I had no idea” is not an excuse.

True, if people want to hide how they’re doing, they certainly can.

But not asking — not checking in … that’s usually born of laziness or apathy.

And we’re not lazy or apathetic.

The idea is to be leaky in the right places. To collect selectively, and let the rest pass through. Like a specialized colander.

Because some things nourish us. They’re worth retaining. Recalling. Holding tenderly.

And other things are not even worth our consideration, let alone keeping.

In these days, when our eyes and ears are served far more than they can hold, an intentional passthrough channel is a healthy filter.

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