“We deliver what we promise.”
That’s what one of the slides said at a conference I attended today. But that was only the second half of the message. The full sentence read:
“We promise what we can deliver, and we deliver what we promise.”
It’s easy to make promises. But if we skip that first part, we risk failing on the second.
We need the whole sentence to avoid ending up with a job half done.
Most homes are, well, like most homes. A bit messy, some cobwebs in the corners, and a few unfinished dishes in the sink.
Often, the homeowners apologize for the mess, convinced their house is a disaster compared to others. When I tell them it’s actually very average, they look both relieved and surprised.
And when I explain what it really takes for me to raise my eyebrows, they can hardly believe it. Many have gone through life thinking they’re the “messy ones”.
It’s not strange. At dinner invites, we don’t see the everyday household. We see the polished version, the Insta snapshot.
We all do it.
When guests come over, when we’re at a job interview, or when we spot a police car in the rearview mirror. That’s not our average self shaking hands or driving around. That’s our pimped, perfect, pretty, prima persona.
And that’s only the outside. Inside, how we really feel, we often paint an even glossier picture. No stains, just shiny happy people.
But it’s the same story here. We’re not alone in not feeling great all the time. Sometimes the mess at home is nothing compared to the mess inside. That’s human.
When we dare to open up, when we’re true to ourselves and others, something amazing happens. Others open up too. Suddenly the weight is shared, and the burden feels lighter.
There’s relief. There’s room to breathe again.
Where do thoughts go?
There are so many of them. They must vanish somewhere. Otherwise the head would explode, right?
At least that’s how I feel.
My way out is to write them down. Like this. Letting those ungraspable thought clouds dissolve into letters falling like raindrops.
Wiping away water works better than pushing clouds.
I can feel this droning ghost following me after work too. The absence of creativity casts a long shadow, dimming whatever spark of inspiration is left. Like a crystal without light, its prism disappears.
So I try to remind myself that even if there’s no prism to catch the eye, the crystal is still there. If I approach it from a different angle, maybe I can catch a glimpse of those beautiful colors.
One small shift to bring back some balance. To catch a little light, a little color.
Sometimes, a different angle is all we need to catch the creativity.
He’s not that old, maybe 25. It got me thinking about what I was doing at that age…
I was a bricklayer. It feels like ages ago - and it kinda was. After that, I’ve had many different jobs.
Looking back at our lives, it’s pretty amazing how much we’ve experienced and accomplished. Even if we’ve stayed in the same place doing the same job, we’ve seen, done, and learned so much.
It’s easy to miss. Easy to think:
“Is this it? I’ve made no progress.”
And maybe that’s true — if we only look at a short timeframe. But when we zoom out, when we take in the whole picture, it’s almost hard to believe how much we’ve been through.
There have been ups and downs, good days and bad days, laughter and sorrow.
Quite a ride, and the journey isn’t over yet.
And the best part? We all got the ticket for free.
Priceless!
Now I’m part of this chain reaction too. A beautiful example of the community side of blogging. A digital picture of the internet as one giant web, a connection reaching past the physical realm.
But that’s not quite what I want to bring to the discussion. I agree with Manu’s advice about linking and commenting, and I practice it too, yet my thoughts on logliness (from the ancient Latin loglinus) wander elsewhere.
The first thing that comes to mind is that loneliness isn’t a measurement. Someone might feel lonely at a concert with tens of thousands of people. Someone else might sit alone in a hotel room and feel in great company, just by thinking of their book circle back home.
Just because we can’t feel the company doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Just because people don’t upvote, share, or comment on our posts doesn’t mean we don’t have a grateful audience. We may not hear the applause, but that doesn’t mean no one’s watching.
Perhaps it’s the loud rush of modern life that turns silence into loneliness. We’re haunted by validation. Stalked by likes, stats, ratings, follower counts, scores.
Maybe embracing the silence is the group hug we need to feel a little less lonely.
Update: Sacha Chua has written a beautiful follow-up: Writing into the quiet.
It’s the name of a song by one of Sweden’s biggest artists, Veronica Maggio. Yesterday evening, it was playing like a mental soundtrack for me. Not the actual song, just those four words:
Not good in group.
I was riding my bicycle home from a dinner and boule get-together with colleagues. We don’t meet up very often, so it was nice.
But for me, it was also a case of not being good in group. It’s not that I’m shy or have a problem socializing (even though it often leaves me with a social hangover). It’s just that it feels like too much.
There is so much going on at the same time…
Things happening, conversations about this and that, questions, answers, anecdotes, and people with that hunted look, ready to throw in their story. As if the main purpose of being in a group is to get yourself out to as many as possible.
It gets overwhelming. Impossible to focus. Exhausting.
It usually ends with me being the first to say, “Thank you, everyone! It’s been great, but I have to leave.” And that’s exactly what I did.
Maybe it’s that same old too many balls in the air at play, I don’t know. But I do know it feels very good that it’s Saturday. I need to recharge.
Wishing you a wonderful weekend!
