I requested a book from my local library recently: The Anxious Achiever.

My BFF told me about this book. She knew I needed it—achieving is one of my top strengths.

But in my small, rural town of 2,500 people, the library did not have this book. Nor did any other library in the state of New Hampshire.

Have you ever misjudged someone?

As in, really misjudged them?

And afterwards you realized how inaccurate you were?

I did this recently. It felt innocent enough, but in the end, I was way off.

I was in Amsterdam recently.

ING, a Dutch bank, has placed an intriguing set of bright orange billboards on the airport jetways there. They launched this branding campaign a few years ago—at the beginning of 2020, just as the pandemic was gathering steam. The campaign is about “encouraging people to do more of the things that move them.”

Ever feel a nudge?

A tug on your arm?

As if a kid is trying to get your attention?

Hey, you! Mom, Dad! Over here!

I was at a coffee shop getting morning java on a steamy summer morning recently.

There were five or six people waiting for mobile orders, and five or six in the analog line.

The drive-thru was packed, and the workers were frantically dashing about behind the counter. I got in line, but just in case, I filled out a mobile order.

I just spent a weekend with my BFF at her cabin in the woods.

When we first met at a writing workshop 25 years ago, she pronounced matter-of-factly to our class, “I don’t want more friends. I am only looking for people I can workshop my writing with.”

That's how we became best friends.

Have you ever had a moment that changed the trajectory of everything?

These defining moments tend to stick in Kodachrome.

I just had one.

One minute, I was walking a block from a hotel to my rental car in Queens—it was 4:15 am, pitch dark

What are you Attached to?

Attached with a capital A.

As in, what might you be potentially-bordering-on-unhealthy Attached to?

In my case, I’m Attached to my kid. To him being okay day-in-and-day-out. To his success.

I have watched one too many movies on airplanes lately. They help to pass the time on business trips.

In one overdramatic tearjerker called The Choice, a character quoted their grandmother.

I just returned from a visit to South Dakota.

A colleague and I spent a beautiful weekend at the Crazy Horse Memorial.

If you have not seen this giant sculpture in progress on sacred Lakota ground, you must go.

Ever notice how some things sap your energy?

Certain people.

Places.

Or activities.

We can be plugged in to people or things—and they can drain us, or fuel us.

The perennials are poking through.

Showing up like the great surprise they are.

One moment, only brave points of green stalks in the dirt, and a week later, they are a foot high. The hint of blossoms then emerge, and within a few weeks, daffodils and day lilies trumpet their stories.

I pulled into my driveway, just getting home from the airport from another work trip. It was a Friday night around midnight. As I backed into the garage, the headlights of my car landed on the peonies in our perennial garden. They stood straight and powerful like sentries, gathering their energy to bloom.

For a long time, I never watched or listened to the news.

I don’t want to dwell on the sensational. Or the negative. I don’t want to immerse myself in the vibrational frequency that most news is highlighting. 

Instead, I want to fuel life with positivity. Expansiveness. Possibility. And

One of my colleagues recently cleaned out her closet.

Really cleaned it out.

As in, eliminated at least a third of her clothes.

She was inspired after reading the book The Fourth Quarter of Your Life.

I crossed paths once with a board member at a non-profit I was working with. We ran into each other in town. When I saw him, we both stopped, and I said, “It’s good to see you!” 

Without further ado.

This is a useful expression.

It means no more foolish blabber. No fuss. Get on to the thing you are here to see.

The phrase has been around since the 1300s. It first appeared in written form in Shakespeare’s “Much Ado About Nothing,” which he wrote about 1598.

As you look back on your life, what transitions do you remember?

What significant moments—or demarcations of your path—took you from there to here?

And of those turning points, which ones did you not plan or choose? What actually foisted itself upon you?

I have two minds about this.

Ever say that?

I was just reminded of this in a recent training: Humans can hold two diametrically opposing ideas at once.

Two ideas that conflict with each other.

Two values that conflict with each other.

I just went to the end of the world.

 Ushuaia, Argentina.

 The southernmost city, or capital, of the Tierra del Fuego archipelago.

 It’s known as the end of the world. And it’s in the land of fire.

This small city is at the end of the Pan-American highway, which spans 19,000 miles. The highway is known as the longest road in the world—connecting the Americas. It starts in Prudhoe Bay, Alaska, and ends in Ushuaia, Argentina.