We know this from athletics. We know this from music. We know this from cooking.

Warmups are necessary.

We can begin from a cold start, but it all works much better after we’re warm.

Which is to say — when our creative projects haven’t yet hit their stride, it could be that we’re still warming up. And while some warmups are measured in minutes, others are measured in months and years.

The fable is told a few different ways, but the message is the same.

In a breakfast of bacon and eggs, the chicken is involved but the pig is committed.

The flaw in the parable is that the collaboration always fails. There’s no breakfast because self-sacrifice is not on the table.

We often need collaboration. And we need commitment, too, but not as a casualty.

In healthy collaboration, those who carry the most risk have a say in the decisions that are made.

As for the chicken and the pig, they work together only when they can agree on a new recipe.

One of the doors in my office tends to slam. It’s done this for a long time. Years? Sometimes people catch it to soften the blow. Mostly, it just shuts loudly.

During an in-between moment this week, I decided to see what could be done.

I took the cover off of the door closer, noted the manufacturer’s name, found some documentation on how to adjust the mechanism, and now, the door shuts much more quietly.

Some lessons were learned:

• 20-minutes of attention can fix a two-second annoyance that occurs a hundred times a day.

• Some door closers can sweep quickly and then latch slowly. With adjustments for each. Those are nice features.

• Detailed manufacturer’s information can exist — even for decades-old products.

• Between big projects, sometimes it’s fun to find a small thing to fix.

• Finally: some people tend to notice changes and improvements, and others tend to be generally oblivious.

My son took a test at school — the kind that involves dozens of students sitting at desks in a large auditorium.

As he explained it, the test was briefly interrupted not by a commotion, but by its absence. At one point, the ventilation fans — whose industrial hum had been so constant as to be invisible — the fans suddenly stopped. And there was an unexpected silence. A silence that was disruptive because it suddenly revealed that what previously felt like quiet was not quiet at all.

Absence, as much as presence, prompts us to take inventory.

We cannot make happen what must be invited to happen.

In those spaces, we don’t need the tools of an engineer, but the heart of a sower.

It’s not so much a shame that we have to live with the natural consequences of our actions.

The shame is that in some areas of life, we are stubbornly slow learners.

It’s difficult to read a menu by candlelight.

Dinner by LED flood light solves that problem, but at a cost.

More isn’t always better.

Better is better.

And there are always concessions to be made.

You won’t always get clear directions, but if you can use a broom, you can always find something useful to do.

The skill is not in waiting patiently for your assignment — it’s in seeing the small ways you can help without needing instructions.

If you only have a little kindness to offer each day, then offer it in the morning. That small gesture has the power to lift the whole day for someone else.

Or offer it in the evening, where it can be the balm that soothes a weary heart.

Or perhaps midday, where it can make blossom an otherwise average slog.

Or maybe all three, because even a small bit of kindness is enough to spread across the hours.

When we’re frustrated, it can be an indicator that we’ve mistaken our position in the classroom. We think — in that moment — that our role is in administration, when we’re actually being asked to learn. That the instruction is not ours to give as the teacher, but ours to take as the student.

* * *

H/T Ajike

Just be careful.

There are tools that can streamline all your correspondence. Software can augment your shortfalls as a manager and clear-minded thinker.

Like a mental prosthetic, technology can be an enabler — helping us to achieve levels of efficiency and proficiency that would otherwise be impossible to do on our own.

But the distance between, “AI, help me,” and “AI, just do all of it for me,” is small. And the latter is not always appropriate.

In a real sense, my generative AI message to you could prompt a generative AI reply. And then it becomes the AI models talking to each other. And we become observers of our own communications rather than intentional participants.

Just be careful.

Because in many areas of life, unassisted humanness is sufficient. Even preferred.

Animals coordinate in remarkable ways. Consider a school of tetras, or mobbing birds, or groups of meerkats.

It’s a wordless expression of, “This is what we’re doing!”

Everyone falls in line. The group acts together. Movement, synchronized.

We can fall into this, too. And it’s not just at the fringes where mob-mentality and groupthink occur.

It’s in our day-to-day. In subtle ways. Like a scent that lingers with us. Or a social marinade that seeps in over time.

And depending on who surrounds us, we can be seasoned into courage and resilience, friendliness and generosity … or tenderized into cynicism, judgement, fear, and complaint.

So it’s worth carefully considering: Who’s in the room? Who walks beside me? Who shares the air I breathe?

Because our independence only extends so far; our lanes are inevitably influenced by fellow travelers and the surrounding currents.

Civil wars. International conflict. Political crises. Widespread unrest.

And yet … throughout modern human history, great artists, philosophers, and humorists have weathered these storms. Even produced remarkable work.

We live in difficult times.

Let creativity flourish, even as peace may feel like a stretch.

Despite its many wonders, the human body probably wouldn’t earn a five-star review.

For one, there’s not a definitive user manual. That’s a problem.

Plus, reliability is inconsistent.

And there’s no warranty.

There are countless manufacturers and an enigmatic parent company …

And yet the body can heal itself. It can self-moderate. It can accomplish remarkable feats. It can surprise and delight.

* * *

Like many things, the reviews will be mixed; some see problems while others see perfection. Because how we see shapes what we see.

You could spend a lot of time looking through a phone screen — waiting for a spark of inspiration.

And maybe it will come.

But spending just a little time looking through a window screen might be a better bet.

It doesn’t always insist that we pay attention, but when we do, nature delivers.

Don’t exhaust yourself talking about the problem.

(Remember that you have to save some energy for figuring out the solution.)

Child: “Look! I drew a rainbow!”

Parent: “Oh, sweetie. We don’t need it. See? That’s been done before. Besides, just Google it. I’m sure you’ll find just what you want — and even better than you could do it.”

* * *

No one actually says this (hopefully not, anyway).

However, as children grow, the message, “Don’t bother; it’s been done,” certainly begins to creep in.

But remember: sometimes the output isn’t nearly as valuable as having participated in the process of its creation.

One way to begin: read some books, take some notes, draw some pictures.

Go to school, of course.

Then, you might take a job as a secretary. Or as a waitress. Or maybe you could work as an assistant at a film production company.

Your work might then finance a 6,800-mile journey to study exotic animals in their natural habitats — a childhood dream of yours.

And you’d be Jane Goodall.

* * *

No one is born Jane Goodall.

No one follows a logical path that leads to being Jane Goodall.

One becomes Jane Goodall. As she did.

And the early work might seem completely separate.

Except that it’s not.

AI-generated art is everywhere. It’s accessible, immediate, and infinite.

But it’s inherently flat. Soulless.

It has its place, but its place is not everywhere.
It has its use, but its use is not for everything.
It has its value, but its value is not rare.

There are times — many times — when it’s worth insisting on humanness. On embracing methods that take time. On valuing provenance.

We can resist flattening. We can see the beauty in imperfection. We can delight in slow work.

And we might develop a new appreciation for ideas, images, and sounds whose generation doesn’t require signals, servers, or screens.

If you’re stuck (or you have the feeling of being stuck) it’s easy to get caught up in your thoughts. And all that rumination — about what to do, or where to go, or what the future holds — all that can keep you just as stuck as anything else.

But sometimes, direction needs to be secondary. Step one is getting unstuck. Even just a little.

A bit of movement is where we begin. Where we direct ourselves can come after we get moving.