Some people have an easy time forgiving themselves, but they’re reluctant to forgive others.
And others are quick to forgive, except when it involves forgiving themselves.
Do you lean more one way or the other?
Because if we can do either, we can do both.
And together, that could make a remarkable difference.
Whether it’s cloudy, raining, or inky black, the sun is always there.
It may be hidden behind dense cloud cover. It may be on the other side of the planet.
But it still shines.
Whether we recall its presence — that’s our part.
Too often, we think of creative projects like scripted speeches.
A better way is to think of them as conversations.
We don’t always know where they will lead. So instead of reading the next word, we engage and respond. Back and forth, following new streams and runlets … together. Not dictating creation, but collaborating with it.
A friend shared an amusing thought after a playful disagreement with his children about growing old:
“My only regret is that I’ll be dead by the time I’d be able to tell them, ‘I told you so!’”
Silly in one sense, but it does point to a larger truth.
We’re right about many things that others will dispute — and we’re not guaranteed the satisfaction of vindication.
So, knowing that we know will have to suffice.
“I told you so” can feel satisfying, but “I know that I know” has lasting resonance.
As I looked at the alto saxophone’s left pinky key-cluster, I could see something was amiss. (These keys are not supposed to be double-jointed.)
Unable to diagnose the problem through observation and tinkering, I looked to the internet for help. Luckily, I found great advice:
Don’t attempt to fix an instrument that doesn’t belong to you.
Don’t try to fix it if you have to ask, “How do I fix this?” Saxophones are complicated, and learning to fix them isn’t something you do on the internet.
And with that, I put the instrument in its case. It will go to the technician.
* * *
I look to the internet often for repair advice. I can often find generous experts offering step-by-step instructions.
But it’s also a good idea to know when you’re potentially in over your head.
Calling in an expert isn’t giving up. Sometimes, it’s exactly the right move.
There’s the palette knife from Tim. A set of combination wrenches from my dad. Some calipers from Scotty’s grandfather. An oversized screwdriver from Mr. Fisher. A mallet that Jason turned.
Most of the tools in my shop have a story. I can trace their origin. I can reflect on how long they’ve been with me.
Likewise, with our skills and abilities — sometimes we know their source. Lessons and learnings from parents, teachers, mentors, and friends.
Sometimes we know who taught us how to tie a knot. Or who explained color theory. Who modeled careful listening. Who told us about compound interest. Or how to make pecan tassies. Or how to be humble.
We can’t always know. Some of who we are and what we know develops organically and without signature. But when we do know, it can easily be sweetly sentimental.
When you carry a cup upside down, regardless of its availability, you won’t collect much water.
Likewise with us. To receive, to accept, to be filled … it starts by carrying ourselves in a certain way.
Know the difference between a backlog and yesterday’s unchecked boxes.
Some things carry forward. Others don’t.
In some cases, we incur a debt that builds. Missing three days means we have three days to make up.
But other times — many times — we can simply begin again. No apologies, no late fees, no arrears, no build-up. We can just start fresh.
And that’s remarkable gift.
Regardless of your past victories and failures, no matter the highs and lows, one of your life’s most beautiful contributions could be tomorrow.
How you engage, who you impact … your greatest hour — what you might consider to be your defining moment — could very well be ahead of you.
The irony is that those who develop a high tolerance for discipline and boredom … often end up being able to have the most fun.
And those who constantly seek entertainment are those who are most easily bored.
Like a crane, we must sometimes stretch beyond where we intend to finish.
Likewise, while our finished work lies within the frame, our movements, patterns, and marks — the fervent efforts of our process — often extend well beyond its edges.
Scaffolding isn’t permanent; it offers temporary structural support.
And it’s a sign of growth, restoration, and improvement.
When we see scaffolding, we know work is brewing.
Scaffolding isn’t a crutch for the weak; it’s a tool of enterprise.
So wherever we find conceptual scaffolding — in education, in mental health, in the workplace — we can remind ourselves of what we’re seeing: this is someone’s way-forward in practice.
My sons improbably lodged a soccer ball in the top-most branches of a tall maple tree. I offered to help.
We spent nearly an hour trying various (and often ridiculous) ways to dislodge it.
We were unsuccessful, but we had a lot of fun trying.
Eventually, nature will solve the problem. A strong wind or the changing seasons — something will dislodge it. (Or we’ll go at it again with renewed vigor.)
Our experience turned into a great example of finding a new game when the planned game doesn’t work out. Of having a good time without really “winning”.
For me, it was a simple reminder that when I’m working on my kids’ behalf, it rarely feels like work at all.
There’s a little sadness in seeing a tidy kitchen and a blank sketchbook.
Chores do have their place.
But occasionally, allow that place to be second.
May you sometimes have a sink full of dishes, a studio full of progress, and a heart full of satisfaction.
All the touch-points matter. The seats, the lighting, the inflight entertainment, how the trays and bins operate.
But well-before those features are installed, the aircraft is a functional flying machine. “Green aircraft” they’re called. Often covered in a protective green coating, these planes are minimally equipped for safe flight, but they’re not yet outfitted with the interior finishes.
In this kind of production, after the aircraft is assembled and tested, it takes a ferry flight to a separate facility where the cabin is completed and the exterior is top-coated.
Why does this matter?
Because it’s really easy to obsess over the cabin. Even before we’ve built the flight-ready structure.
All icing and no cake.
So if you’ve decided you need both, be sure to build a structure that’s worthy of its finishes.
No doubt, generative AI is creating unprecedented change. Some historically laborious tasks are now easy tasks. And some jobs are becoming obsolete. The future is uncertain. (Even more than usual.)
But it’s not the time to panic. It’s the time to double-down on our skills. Skills like empathy, listening, pondering, and curiosity. Openness, wonder, improvisation, and connection.
The landscape is changing — as it always has. As creative humans, we wilt or blossom as we choose. Not because of our environment, but because of how we choose to engage with it.
“I can make one more expensive, but I can’t make one more delicious.”
Sometimes we find an ingredient or a tool that’s just right. It becomes a staple. A workhorse.
And though we can source greater luxury and finer polish, we can’t find what’s better.
There’s tension there. We like improvements. We yearn to climb, even when we’ve reached the summit.
But there can be joy in knowing we’ve already discovered something of great value. That we can turn from the ache of seeking to gratitude for having found.
I picked up some uncomplicated peanut butter — the kind that consists of roasted peanuts, salt, and a jar with a lid.
It was delicious, but impossibly messy. The peanut butter was too liquid, and I couldn’t get it to stay on a knife or to not drip from a spoon.
Food science taught me the fix.
Natural peanut butter is an emulsion — peanut particles and proteins suspended in oil. If you mix in just a little water, it disrupts that oily emulsion as the water interacts with the proteins, causing them to clump together.
And just like that, my liquidy peanut butter became much more workable.
* * *
Add some water to make it more firm? I wouldn’t have guessed it.
When our intuition doesn’t track with the science, the solution will likely seem counter-intuitive.
We enter the studio heavy and we depart light.
We enter the studio empty and we depart full.
Seek these transformative spaces — this kind of work, these human connections — where our burdens are eased and our spirits replenished.
These places are holy.
Listen to the poets.
More than the pundits. More than the analysts. More than all the voices that are jockeying for our attention night and day.
Listen to the poets.
Seek their perspective.
Let them remind you of the wonders of the world.
Let them inspire you to see with your heart.
Let them speak to that inner wisdom that recognizes beauty, that grows through mystery, that embraces the immeasurable, that dances with the unresolved.
Because others will try to convince you that all can be understood, that all can be quantified, that all can be charted and graphed and boxed and readied for shipping.
And with all that noise, we forget the poetry.
Enter the poets. Listen to them.
