How long does it take to install a dishwasher?

Three hours.

And, of course, this only applies to one situation (mine) at one time (last night) with one particular model.

Because other installations could take thirty minutes. And others, six hours.

Like so many things, it depends. And like so many things, the only sure way to know is by doing.

All the more reason to build slack into the schedule and to build patience into ourselves.

When we have barely enough, we account for every ounce, every inch, every penny, every breath.

Whether real or imagined, when we experience scarcity, every bit matters.

But after we cross the threshold of sufficiency, it’s often not long before we begin to waste.

Sometimes we count shortfall, other times we count the excess. Either way, we can always be sure to count the blessings.

Sometimes I imagine the books on my shelves as though they’re a team of infinitely patient mentors. Advisors who are ready to impart wisdom as soon as I set aside the busyness of the day. Never judging. Never shaming. Just ready when I am.

In this sense, the shelves brim with possibility.

When you walk around with your head in the clouds, you might end up stepping in a few puddles.

But the thing about having your head in the clouds is that you don’t mind getting your feet wet.

When we experience conversion, when we commit to a change, when we are transformed …

We tap into a new kind of energy. A “from now on” energy.

Because we’ve decided on our own, or the world has helped us to decide, and we can say, “From now on …”

And we are never the same.

And through our eyes, the world is never the same.

Observe your creative work from a new perspective.

• Turn it upside down

• Reverse its order

• Look at its reflection

• Look at its inverse

• Read it aloud

• Listen as someone else reads it aloud

• Record yourself

• Say it slowly

• Listen note by note

• Look only at the shapes

• Look only at the lines

• Look only at the colors

• Desaturate it

• Observe it from far away

• View it from your periphery

• Forget about it and revisit it later

• Recall it as a memory

• View it printed

• View it digitally

• Observe it small

• Observe it oversized

• Observe it as a stranger

• Imagine sharing it with others

• Actually share it with others

When we shift from the default, new insights bloom to greet us.

* * *

HT: AK and SV

The subtext beneath a lot of excuses has to do with time management and what we’ve chosen to prioritize. That is, “[consciously or through my default actions] I decided something else was more important.” Or, “My mind was elsewhere.” (Which is the same thing in a slightly different color.)

But other excuses have an unspoken coda: “… and I didn’t take the next logical step.”

I didn't have enough information …
I was confused …
I had a conflict …

… and I didn’t take the next logical step.

Which is another way to say, “So I gave up.”

When you feel an excuse coming on, poke holes in it. See if it passes muster. We like to tell the story, “Sorry! It was completely out of my control.”

But so often, we have plenty of control. We’ve just directed it elsewhere.

While on the road recently, I watched as another driver was about to err. They did not have right of way, the were not watching, and they were poised to turn in front of me. I braked, allowed the ridiculousness to unfold, and moved on with my day. The other driver was oblivious from start to finish.

I could have insisted on being right. Could have continued driving. Could have forced the issue.

And I would have earned myself a smashed fender as a result.

If we want to die on any given hill … we can. But remember the part about dying.

Stubborn righteousness can have a cost. The good thing is: we often get to choose whether it’s worth it.

I overheard someone telling a story at two different times, to two separate colleagues.

One colleague heard the story and asked a dozen follow-up questions.

Later, another heard the same story, remarked courteously, and asked nothing.

The story was the same. The details were the same.

The listeners were different.

When we’re excited to tell others about a thing, it’s easy to forget that other people have other histories and other interests. Sometimes we’re aligned. Sometimes we’re not.

Whether sharing your work, your stories, or your interests … don’t be thrown off when you encounter silence. Instead, seek a more receptive audience.

Projects and streaks often come to quiet ends. Sometimes without announcement, many times without acknowledgement. Just an end.

Naturally after a decline, or abruptly and unexpectedly.

What happens when a family tradition ends?
What happens when a habit stops?
What happens when a writer sunsets a blog?

The thing about it — even life more broadly — is that tidy conclusions are not a guarantee.

So we continue, perhaps having been transformed, but onwards nonetheless. With or without applause.

Because change is not an anchor that pins us, it’s a wave that we ride.

Some problems are solved, others are managed.

The difference is that solved problems don’t need to be revisited; we can move forward without concern.

Managed problems, however, don’t disappear. They need attention, monitoring, tending.

For the most part, we don’t fully solve things like anger. Things like fear. Or insecurity. Or overwhelm.

Instead, we find ways to work-around, to minimize, to cope, to redirect, to re-story.

As eager problem-solvers, we need to remember that many times, we’re also problem managers.

Not the problem’s vanquisher, but its steward.

At most points in our life, tomorrow is much like yesterday. The flavors and contours might vary, but aside from extraordinary, unexpected change, there’s a similarity.

Our window on the timeline is somewhat steady.

But the further we extend our gaze — six months ahead, six months behind … ten years ahead, ten years behind — the themes change. Over longer periods of time, the story arc changes.

We can’t stop the changes from happening; that’s not the point.

But we can decide whether we’re floating or sailing, watching or acting, consuming or contributing.

Even before one long chapter ends and another begins, we remain authors with pen in hand.

If spring is a time of blossoms and external growth — strikingly visible newness of life — then perhaps fall is a time for internal growth. A time for introspective rigor. A time for the quiet, inside work.

The development might not be as outwardly evident, but inside, it’s bursting with the colors of possibility.

How might you use this coming season to grow?

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.