We think about the things we should do. We should get more exercise. We should eat better. We should repair a relationship. The list goes on and on. In my house, we try to avoid "should-ing." We believe we are in control of our lives, and any instance of a "should" is like a little bell in a hotel lobby calling to the caretaker.
Ding.
A little bell calling our attention to a gap.
"I should eat better" tells me that somewhere inside me exists a standard—a belief that there is a better way for me to live than the way I am living right now. Some "should's" have immediate consequences. Some compound over time. Some have urgency. Others have been hanging around for decades. When we find ourselves in a "should," rather than immediately judging ourselves, we can stop and get curious. I mean, anytime a bell goes off to get your attention, you should probably look around.
Ding.
A "should" lets me know there is some distance between who I am right now and who I believe I ought to be.
That's an opportunity for awareness. Where did I get this idea of who I ought to be? Is it mine or someone else's? Do I actually agree with this standard? Is something within my control preventing my progress toward it?
If the answer is yes... I don't need to solve the rest of my life, I only need to ask...
What does better look like today?
My first jobs in the golf industry taught me a lot about standards and about the consequences of ignoring little bells. When you're mowing around the parking lot, you can stop the mower and pick up the single piece of paper in front of you. Or you can keep going, suck it into the mower and then pick up a couple hundred pieces. You can rinse the tools before putting them away, or bring the dirt into the shop and sweep it up later. You can clean the grease off the shop floor, or step in it, track it into your car and eventually into your house. You can put the hose away—or, as I've always imagined in my slightly dramatic way, leave it there to trip over while you're trying to escape a burning building.
I was fortunate to work in well-lit, organized and cared-for facilities. And I learned something surprisingly important from them:
The easiest way to keep a shop clean is to control what enters it.
Tools and equipment were washed before being put away. Boots were blown off before entering. Machines and tools had a place. Organization wasn't something we did after things became disorganized, it was part of the way we worked.
Clean, organized shops had something in common: a culture of care.
The standard wasn't "clean the shop when it gets terrible."
The standard was don't unnecessarily make it dirty.
That's a very different way of thinking.
A lot of life works this way.
We are going to struggle. We are going to experience inconvenience. We don't always get to choose whether something will cost us effort, but surprisingly often we get some say in when and how much. Pick up one piece of paper now or 200 later. Wash the shovel now or sweep the dirt later. Have the uncomfortable conversation now or deal with what years of avoiding it creates.
The little bell is useful because it catches our attention while the problem may still be small.
Ding.
There's a standard here.
Pause.
Look at it.
Is this actually my standard? Is it reasonable? Is it something I care about? Is there something within my control that I can do about it? If the answer is yes, we don't need to turn on the fire alarm.
We don't need to imagine every workout we'll have to complete for the rest of our lives. Every meal we'll have to change. Every difficult conversation ahead of us. Every sacrifice required to become some idealized future version of ourselves.
That's an enormous burden to place on a brain standing here today.
Instead:
Better today is enough.
So define what good looks like. Notice when you've wandered from it. Don't condemn yourself for wandering, and intentionally take one step toward it.
Awareness.
Mindfulness.
Intention.
The bell isn't an five alarm fire situation, it's an invitation to pay attention.
Ding.
