What do you do regularly?
Where do you show up, what do you publish? Who do you ask, and what do you answer to? What gets better because you persist?
Are there systems you support or work to change?
What do you do when you don’t feel like it? Especially then.
The ocean is made of drops. And our practice turns those drops into something of significance.
It’s a practice if we show up even if it’s not working (yet). And it’s a practice if we understand how to make it better.
Our actions become our habits, and our habits attract others. That becomes our community, and our community builds systems. Those systems feel awkward until they become normal, and then, once normal, they become the status quo.
Bolts of lightning rarely change the world, but erosion does. Streams turn into rivers, and rivers persist.
In a typical tournament, you don’t score any extra points for winning with the fewest number of moves. Quickly isn’t the point.
We don’t use the same language or ideas with an in-law that we do with our bar buddies.
When the internet was young, people often chose to filter themselves online. We didn’t know who was on the other end of the pipe, and we knew it would be there forever. And typing feels more permanent and official than speaking…
Over time, the algorithms rewarded people who were guttural, hurtful, profane and, to use an overused and inefficient word, “authentic.” And so it flipped.
Now, social media is filled with amped-up rants that pretend to be unfiltered, and the standard for discourse is quickly eroding. There’s plenty of data to confirm that we’re spewing words and ideas that would never be tolerated in person, with friends.
Why should our standard for public behavior be lower than it is for the people we know?
Unfiltered doesn’t mean real. Because it’s our filters that make us who we are.
Frozen pizza changed the game for many pizzerias. If you couldn’t offer something better than what I had in my freezer, what do I need you for?
If the wedding photographer can’t deliver more magic than the phone in my guest’s pocket, no thanks.
Does working with your non-profit make me feel better than putting a dollar in the violin case of the busker down the street?
And if the local print shop can’t set type better than my Mac, I’ll move on.
So–is your copywriting, research, illustration or coding better than I can get from the AI on my desk?
Racing to the bottom is no fun. You might win.
It’s an odd term, worth a look.
We don’t notice that the tree we planted a few years ago thrives just a bit more each day. We don’t notice that the mail shows up when it’s supposed to, that our civilization persists in the face of chaos, and that the lights (usually) go on when we flip a switch.
Granted?
What would happen if we paid as much attention to these persistent delights as we pay to the annoying surprises that unfold each day?
The narrative of our time here becomes our lived experience. We’re the directors of this very long cinéma vérité documentary, deciding what gets focused on and what we skip over.
And it turns out that choosing our focus often leads to the plot changing as well.
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