Overprovisioning is a practice in computer storage design: beyond the space you can use, there’s a little extra. That extra — the overprovisioning — creates flexibility, improves performance, and makes repairs possible.

At first glance, it can feel like sleight of hand. If the device has 214 units, why does the label say 200?

But it isn’t deception. It’s design, pragmatism — even a bit of generosity.

The hidden extra is what allows the visible portion to thrive.

We’re no different; the margin we preserve is often what keeps everything running.

In a 1963 essay, civil rights activist Fannie Lou Hamer wrote these powerful words:

“Sometimes it seem like to tell the truth today is to run the risk of being killed. But if I fall, I’ll fall five feet four inches forward in the fight for freedom. I’m not backing off.”

Today’s fight for freedom has different contours. But may we all carry that five-foot-four-inch resolve.

Not every half-baked idea deserves tossing.

Some of them just need more time in the oven.

Sometimes, even a good carpet can’t fix an uneven floor.
Sometimes, even good software can’t mask failing hardware.
Sometimes, even good acting can’t rescue weak writing.

Layers tend to work in one direction. And we can easily burn a lot of energy trying to fix the part that isn’t broken.

Nearly two years ago, I hung a painting on my office wall — a print I bought from SFMOMA. Seeking a slight shift in energy, I moved the painting to an adjacent wall.

The next day, two colleagues commented on it. “Is it new?”

Discovery and appreciation are often just a slight turn in a new direction.

I watched two friends making their way across a grassy park. The one with a cane said, “I just can’t hurry.”

She moved carefully, deliberately — and cheerfully. She knew her limits and was content to keep her own pace.

There’s the pace of the world, and there’s our own pace. They meet now and then, but most days, we’re better off knowing which one is ours.

Walking through a market, I caught a glimpse of a former colleague I hadn’t seen in years. I doubled back to say hello.

She said, “I just told my friend, ‘I don’t think he recognizes me.’”

The truth is, I recognized her instantly. But I almost didn’t see her.

* * *

We cannot recognize what we do not see. And even with eyes open, there are entire worlds that we will still miss.

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:

1. Don’t attempt to fix an instrument that doesn’t belong to you.

2. 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.