I recall hearing chef Bobby Flay talking about the various sauces he created for his burger restaurants.

The one thing he doesn’t mess with? Ketchup.

For regular tomato ketchup, he serves Heinz. As he explained (I’m paraphrasing), “They do it just right. I can’t improve on that.”

Surely he experimented in his kitchen. But in the end, he decided his own version wasn’t better. (And he didn’t push his in-house product onto customers.)

It takes an innovator to try new things, to expand the boundaries, to subvert the status quo.

It takes a master to know where and when invention is unnecessary.

Sometimes, you won’t be able to win someone over.

It’s unfair. It’s unjust. It doesn’t make sense.

And it’s out of your control.

It doesn’t matter that you’re nice, or that you’re likeable, or that you’ve done nothing wrong.

You’re just fighting a losing battle.

So after you’ve given it a try, and maybe tried again … it’s time to move on.

Because at some point, time trying to make sense of the thorns will come at the expense of spending time with the good soil.

How we truly feel is often revealed in the telling of the story.

Not in thinking. Or in writing. Or in our internal monologue. Or even in speaking aloud when we’re alone.

But rather, in telling our story to others, as they listen and witness.

Conversation becomes the stage on which our emotions are revealed.

Years from now — or maybe even sooner — what seems like a chore today could easily become an impossible dream that you’d long to experience once again.

See the beauty in the everyday. It will not last forever.

I arrived at the office the other day and noticed a former employee pulling into the parking lot. Instead of parking, he made a U-turn, and left.

Turns out, he had been operating on auto-pilot that morning. Five years of working at the same place, and two weeks after leaving, he was still grooved in the old pattern.

It’s a familiar experience.

Whether we change our address, or our mindset, or our habits … old ways have the potential to linger. It can be easy to absentmindedly revert, or relapse, or slip back into previous modes.

Sometimes this is an opportunity to gently coach ourselves. Other times, it’s just a moment to laugh.

Chasing the leader isn’t always a healthy endeavor.

It can help us to stretch, but it maps us to someone else’s position, not to our own capabilities.

On the flip side of things, bottom-calibration isn’t a good plan either. The better-than-the-worst position might keep you from being singled out, but that’s a downward cycle. And you’re better than second-to-last.

Besides, if that weakest link ends up being removed, where does that leave you?

Exercise caution in comparing yourself to others. As ever, the useful comparison is usually to yesterday’s version of you.

I was stopped in a line of cars as a three-truck crew painted lines on a roadway. The last truck was fully stopped; it seemed to have the job of regulating traffic. One impatient driver tried to get around the jam. He drove over some freshly painted lines, and having no space to advance, just stopped.

An operator exited the truck, walked to the back of the vehicle, and, exasperated, pointed to the flashing lights and large signs that read, “WET PAINT. DO NOT PASS.”

Sometimes all the signs are there, right in front of us.

And still, we just can’t seem to take them seriously.

If you have trouble letting others do things, the problem probably isn’t with the quality of others’ work. The problem is more likely with your ability to collaborate, to relinquish control, to mentor, or to manage — or maybe it’s a mix of these.

Rarely is it because everyone else is incompetent.

There’s nothing quite like telling old stories with old friends to remind you of who you are and who you love.

In many ways, such a gathering becomes a homecoming — no matter where you travel to meet.

The world is more or less beautiful.

So the question becomes: is it more beautiful, or less beautiful … because of our contribution?

My guess is that it’s more beautiful.

And — we can act intentionally to make certain.

Last night, while I was walking my dog, a car backfired. It was a long way off and barely audible. But my dog took notice and his anxiety went to work.

Instead of our usual route, he took an immediate hard turn, pulling me straight back to the house. I tried to coax him on, reassuring him it was safe. But he had made up his mind: we were headed back home.

The experience reminded me of how sometimes, just a little hint of fear can turn us toward home where it’s safe — and where we can hide.

A rejected paper. A lukewarm reception. A critical review. A reactionless post.

These can easily short-circuit our confidence.

But sometimes the noise is just the noise.

Sometimes, we need to tell ourselves, “We can keep going. We’re safe. We don’t need to turn back.”

To sign up for creativity is to sign up for messy.

Creation itself — as ordered as it is — is messy.

And of course, we can (and should) create order.

But we need to make room for messes, too.

When we’re able to sink in, it’s a good thing.

When we feel like we’re sinking, it doesn’t feel good at all.

In the former, we have a sense of home. A sense of grounding. We’re comfortably present.

In the latter, we have none of that — only an increasing sense of overwhelm.

Curiously, one of the ways to overcome the feeling of sinking is by sinking into something.

We are all participants in creation. Co-authors of the universe. Contributors of consequence.

But like members of a symphony orchestra, we don’t always play the melody. And there are movements and interludes when we don’t even play at all.

Rests by design.

Indeed, our occasional silence can be a contribution, too.

There are many occasions when quitting is best.

But sometimes we need to see a journey through to the end.

And it’s not always for the sake of the destination.

At times, it’s because we need the reminder that we can do hard things.

“I can do this” is a phrase that needs regular polishing.

Mistakes are inevitable. But they don’t need to be the start of a trend.

Follow-on errors — that flow from a response to the first error — those are mental mistakes.

Learn to calm your headspace. Learn to reset your emotions.

Eliminating mistakes is impossible. Stopping yourself from spiraling is a skill.

A year before his death, Steve Jobs sent this email to himself. It resonates deeply.

* * *

From: Steve Jobs, sjobs@apple.com
To: Steve Jobs, sjobs@apple.com
Date: Thursday, September 2, 2010 at 11:08PM

I grow little of the food I eat, and of the little I do grow I did not breed or perfect the seeds.

I do not make any of my own clothing.

I speak a language I did not invent or refine.

I did not discover the mathematics I use.

I am protected by freedoms and laws I did not conceive of or legislate, and do not enforce or adjudicate.

I am moved by music I did not create myself.

When I needed medical attention, I was helpless to help myself survive.

I did not invent the transistor, the microprocessor, object oriented programming, or most of the technology I work with.

I love and admire my species, living and dead, and am totally dependent on them for my life and well being.

Sent from my iPad

* * *

HT: DLG

When you’re in the midst of fog, you can’t solve your visibility issue by looking more intently. The way to see what’s ahead is to keep moving. With care, perhaps, but not by standing still.

“I can’t wait!”

The unusual thing about this phrase — when we’re honestly excited about a thing — is that we’re saying we can’t do the very thing we must do.

And curiously, the shift from discomfort to peace is a matter of doing less, not more. Because time moves at its own pace without our participation. So our job — as it so often is — is to manage ourselves and to let time do what it unchangeably always has.

“What got us here won’t keep us here.”

This is such a difficult transition. Because what we did worked!

So to recognize — and more, to accept — that it won’t continue to work … that’s tough.

It almost feels like a betrayal.

But it’s not.

As our world changes, so do the challenges we face.

Often, that means we need to change, too.

Today’s story isn’t always written with the pen we’ve come to know.