I’ve been painting. A lot. While priming, painting, repainting walls, doors, baseboards, windows, and trim, I’ve had time to think about the lessons contained in this craft.

About six weeks ago, I started a small garden. My approach wasn’t very sophisticated. I filled some cardboard boxes with soil, and planted a few seeds.

In his book On Writing Well, William Zinsser provocatively states that he does not like writing.

To put on my Chaco sandals properly, I need to slide my feet in, get the strap around my heel, and tighten it. When I’m in a hurry, I can get away with just sliding my feet in and placing the strap under my heel, using the sandal as if it were a slipper. The sandals aren’t as functional when I wear them like this, and after a few minutes, I usually reach down to put them on properly.

Last week, we focused on how to build trust through clear and specific commitments with deadlines. When we keep such commitments we build trust with ourselves and with others. But what happens when we take a swing at building trust and we miss? Is there any way to create value and build trust even from broken commitments?

Have you ever hid behind vague language to avoid putting yourself on the hook? I know I have. But my experience is that vague language produces vague results.

Consultants give answers. Mentors share their experience. Coaches increase agency. These three ways to look at creating value were introduced to me during my training at the Meta Performance Institute, and I’ve been pondering them ever since.

Conversion is often thought of as life-changing on a grand scale—for example, a religious conversion. This larger renewal of the mind, or metanoia, is beautiful but rare in a person’s lifetime. My own conversion to Catholicism was of this sort.

Some words describe things. Other words generate the future.

Your life is a three-act play. It has a beginning, a middle, and an end. Your past is the first act. Your present is the second, and your future is the third. The future hasn’t happened yet, but for many it is already written.

Worrying can feel awful. I know; I’ve been there. But what if being worried isn’t just something that happens? What if you were the one creating this experience?

As my family and I prepared to move from our tiny house, I found myself pondering memories from the beautiful years we spent in our little 120 square foot home. The lessons to be gleaned from our time there are still unfolding and too numerous to pack into one letter. Instead, I’ll share one small musing at a time.

Over some cigars by a bonfire, a friend of mine recently shared his 100-year vision for the property he is living on. Much of what he hoped for had to do with creating a place for his children and grandchildren to enjoy and grow in love together.

Marc Barnes raises the following three questions toward the end of a fascinating episode of the New Polity Podcast.

Three times. That’s how many times I’ve broken my commitment to send out the Good Leaven Letter by Monday during the last 80 weeks or so.