I once attended a gathering where the leader, in jest, called the group to order by shouting, “PAY ATTENTION TO ME!”
It still makes me smile.
* * *
We all seek attention from time to time — sometimes with words, often with actions.
The question is: what behaviors surface when we don’t feel seen?
Gratitude isn’t illusion.
It’s attention.
And those who choose to look are rewarded —
not with more, but with enough.
What’s the phrase? Ready or not?
It’s about right.
For the most part, that’s how it happens — ready or not.
So the question is: how will you respond, regardless of readiness?
We always have a choice.
Do the math. “Best ever” is a small part of what you’ll experience.
So you have a choice.
You can walk around with a constant I’ve-had-better perspective. (It will usually be true.)
But why?
There’s another option — a more pleasant one: gratitude.
Not the illusion that everything is amazing, but the practice of being grateful for the richness of life, whatever the measure.
Sometimes we protect our emotions at the cost of our mental load.
Instead of making a difficult choice, we analyze every detail imaginable.
To avoid heartache, we hide in logic. Emotionally cheap, cognitively expensive.
At times, facing our feelings can take less effort.
Fear and boredom.
How much of our day-to-day is a response to the discomfort each can create?
Maybe more than we’d like to admit.
It might seem formulaic, but the reason some people have a good time is that they’ve decided ahead of time.
It’s not based on the circumstances, the specific qualities, or the conditions.
It comes from an internal attitude — a prior choice.
Meanwhile, others move through life mildly dissatisfied, perhaps not even aware of their own role in the matter.
What we decide ahead of time quietly shapes much of what we experience.
Someone I know is in the process of making a big change. As she explains it, “For the first time, I’m choosing myself.”
That’s a bold move. An inspiring one.
And not necessarily selfish.
Choosing ourselves can be the first step toward generous contribution.
We’d love to know for sure. To have guarantees. To act with complete confidence.
But that was never part of the deal.
Dancing with uncertainty — it’s the only thing on offer.
Not the boss, but the employees.
Not the captain, but the team.
We don’t decide whether we’re leaders.
The people we serve make that call.
Authority can be assigned — even claimed.
But leadership is earned.
* * *
H/T: DB
Practice doesn’t make perfect — it engrains habits.
Being thoughtful about exactly what we’re practicing is a step we can easily skip.
Groove the pattern — but first, carefully sketch the line.
In a 1986 interview with The Paris Review, George Plimpton asked novelist E.L. Doctorow, “Do you have any idea how a project is going to end?”
Doctorow replied: “[No.] ... It’s hard to explain. I have found one explanation that seems to satisfy people. I tell them it’s like driving a car at night: you never see further than your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.”
It’s a metaphor that extends well beyond writing.
How often have we been distressed by our inability to predict the future — that we can only see what’s now, in this very moment?
But indeed, we can make the whole trip this way.
* * *
H/T: Oliver Burkeman
Blink and you’ll miss it.
Pay very close attention and you’ll catch it — but you’ll miss most everything else.
Instead, life is about thoughtful sampling.
Tending to what matters, and having the wisdom to gracefully ignore the rest.
A recent musical performance was moving — not just because of the instrumentation.
It was unmistakably human. A clear, resonant example of musicality in its pure, analog form.
More than that, it was 160 young people playing music they had worked for months to prepare. Not because it was easy. Not because they were paid.
But for the love of the art.
When passion, dedication, and commitment converge at that scale, the noise of the world recedes — and what remains is something good. Something beautiful.
Whenever possible, greet the messenger with gratitude.
The messenger is not the information, its source, or its champion.
Often, they’re simply carrying something difficult.
When we receive the messenger with grace, it becomes easier to receive the message as well.
“Do you hear that?”
A careful investigation follows — until we find the source.
We mute what we can. We listen. We focus.
Maybe it’s a dripping faucet.
Or a buzzing light bulb.
Or the neighbors talking.
The same kind of listening applies to creativity.
Subtle inspiration is easily masked by internal noise.
Pausing. Listening. Discerning.
Part of the practice is being curious about creative whispers.
In a footnote, ibidem (abbreviated as “ibid.”) refers to the exact same source previously listed. The Romans used the word more literally: in that same place.
Over time, it became an academic shorthand. But it can also describe something interior.
When we reach inward for motivation or resolve, we often draw from the same few, genuine sources. The same values. The same intentions.
In the footnotes of our lives, our passions tend to point back to familiar places — ibidem.
The Post-it on the monitor said something like, “Be on time and take notes.”
Knowing this person, I smiled. These weren’t habits — they were hopes.
That’s when I realized: the note wasn’t a label. It was an aspiration. A direction.
We don’t need many reminders of where we are. We need more reminders of where we’re trying to go.
When she travels, our friends’ daughter delays booking transportation.
As she explains it: “I just don’t like to leave wherever I am.”
What a beautiful attitude toward being present and connected — of allowing one moment to resolve before reaching for the next one.
It’s a posture we might all embrace.
Sometimes, the best service has nothing to do with what’s brought to us.
It’s the space that’s given.
Not more food.
Not more drink.
But time, briefly suspended — a place where we can lean into connection.
Because more than anything,
what we’re really hungry for is time together.
