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What Comes First.

I read this line today in a story about Costco founder Sol Price, and I keep thinking about it:

“Everything was about trust. He would rather lose your business than your trust.”

There are things that are more important than making a profit (though Costco certainly does that). I think about this a lot with Inbox Collective — what matters most to me? For my work, it’s about:

• Being willing to listen to readers and serve them.
• Teaching first, and selling second.
• Making sure that everything I put out is something that people can learn from.
• Helping people find joy in their work.

If I take care of my readers, I know the business will flourish in the long run. No matter how the business evolves, I know those core value will remain.

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That photo of a lighted Costco sign in the darkness was taken by Henry & Co for Unsplash.

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Talk It Out.

A few weeks ago, I published a thing on Inbox Collective — a conversation with Claire Zulkey about what she should do with her newsletter. We called it the first in a new series: “Ask a Newsletter Therapist.” It was a bit of a joke — I don’t do what therapists do, but sometimes, everyone needs a professional they can talk to about their problems.

This past week, I’ve had a few more conversations with folks for upcoming editions of the series. And what I tell everyone before the conversation is: I don’t have all the answers. I can’t guarantee that I’m going to suggest something that will help. But even if I don’t, I hope we’ll be able to talk through a few ideas that might get your wheels turning.

It’s great if I can fix something during these calls. But I’m not there just to fix something — I’m there to give these folks a chance to talk stuff out. From time to time, everyone needs someone to talk things through.

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At top, that’s a screenshot of the article I did with Claire.

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We All Have to Make Choices.

My son is a year old, and lately, I’ve been turning down a ton of work opportunities — stuff I would’ve jumped at just two years ago — because I don’t want to miss a moment with him. There are all these projects and speaking gigs I would love to be able to do, but I’m still saying no. I want to be home and be present with my family.

I’ll confess that I do sometimes feel a sort of nostalgia for the pre-dad version of myself that could’ve taken on more of this work. Before kids, I could say yes to anything. (“A series of workshops with a newsroom in Australia that can only talk at 11 p.m. Eastern every week? Let’s do it!“) But for me, everything comes back to a simple thing: I really like my job, but I absolutely love my son and my wife. If I’ve got a choice between something I like and something I love, that’s an easy choice to make.

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That’s Ben and I, taking a break from a hectic weekend morning of playing with literally every toy in the basement so we can watch “Ms. Rachel” together.

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Keep Coming Back to Your Lists.

I have all sorts of to-do lists. I’ve got a list of ideas — “somedays,” I call them — that I want to try. I’ve got notes written down on yellow legal pads and in various Google Docs. I know I won’t act on many of these ideas.

I never worry about running out of ideas, but I know that sometimes, I forget about a really good idea. So it’s helpful to keep coming back to these lists to look through things. What am I still excited about? What could I work on as part of another project? Often, I find a chestnut in one of these docs — but I have to make sure to make time to review and give each of the ideas some thought. I don’t want to let anything slip through the cracks.

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That photo of a small notepad and wooden pencil on top of a wood table, was taken by Michaela St for Unsplash.

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Spinning in Circles.

My son has this funny habit. We’ll take him upstairs to the hallway in front of his room. There will be a few doors open: One to his room, one to the guest bathroom, and one to the guest bedroom. Ben will start to crawl towards one room — but then pause, and spin towards another, and the pause, and spin towards a third. Sometimes, he’ll spin in a circle, for an entire minute or two, unsure what room to crawl towards. There are just too many choices!

And I get it! I often do this myself. I’ll have one too many choices, and instead of just making a choice, I spin my wheels and end up going nowhere.

But the next time I find myself doing that, I’ll try to think about Ben moving in circles. When he does, I try to give him a little pat on the butt to nudge him forward. It doesn’t really matter what choice he makes — he just needs to make one. I need to remember to do the same.

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That photo is from Joel Fulgencio for Unsplash, and it’s of a series of blue walls, with holes cut in the middle, that are in Hong Kong on top of a parking garage. It reminds me a little of when you’re standing between two mirrors, and the reflections seem to go on forever.

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What Are You Going to Do About That Mistake?

I screwed something up today.

My son had an important doctor’s appointment today in Salt Lake City. It was an appointment with a specialist who’s tough to get time with. We booked the appointment a few months ago.

And today, I showed up to the appointment — and found out I was two hours late. We’d put the wrong time on the calendar, and the next available appointment isn’t for a few more months.

I wanted to scream, cry, and crawl under a rock. (Ideally, all three at the same time.)

But anytime something like this happens, I try to figure out a plan to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

So for big appointments like this, I’m putting a few new rules in place. I’ll double-check the appointment time against texts or emails the doctor’s office might send. If they don’t send that, I’ll call the office directly to confirm the time. And you better believe that for something like this that requires a drive, I’ll be checking Google Maps the night before to make sure I get to the appointment on time.

Mistakes happen, and that’s OK. But if you do make a mistake, figure out the processes you can put in place to prevent them — as best you can — going forward.

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That’s a photo of the sunset over the hospital down in Salt Lake, with the mountains in the background. Honestly, it might have the prettiest view of any hospital I’ve ever seen.

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Look Up.

I bought this piece of art today at the Farmer’s Market downtown. It’s a big piece of wood, probably about five feet long, and on it is a carving of the mountains here in Utah. This week, I’ll hang it behind my desk.

But the memorable thing for me wasn’t the purchase of the art — it was walking it to the car.

Now, you’d think that a guy my height (I’m about 6’4’’) carrying a five-foot-long piece of wood might get noticed while walking down the street. I’m hard to miss! And yet: In that short walk, I cannot tell you how many people nearly walked directly into me.

Look, I’m as guilty as any of being distracted by my phone. But today was a nice reminder: The stuff directly in front of you might be pretty important. (Walking into me or that piece of art would’ve been a less-than-fun experience for someone.) It’s easy to miss things happening in our world, but we shouldn’t be missing the obvious stuff that’s literally right in front of our faces.

So look up every once in a while — hopefully to pay attention to what’s happening in your world, but at the very least, because you might be about to walk into a tall guy carrying a big piece of art.

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I don’t have a photo of the art, but here’s a photo that Olivia Hutcherson took for Unsplash of downtown Park City in 2018 at the Farmer’s Market, with small white booths lining the street and red flowers in the foreground.

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Let Yourself Admire.

My son is obsessed with ceiling fans.

Anytime he sees a ceiling fan, and our new home has a few of them, he pauses to admire it. I keep thinking that he’ll grow tired of them — It’s just a ceiling fan, I want to tell him! They cost $127 at Home Depot! — but he never does. He watches them spin with awe.

There’s something special about watching him appreciate a new thing. He’s only 1, and there are so many new things he hasn’t experienced yet. So when he sees something new, he takes his time with it. He watches it, he admires it, he considers it. He takes pleasure in experiencing new stuff.

I’m not saying you should take 20 seconds to pause in awe every time you see a ceiling fan. But we could all use a little reminder to shift our perspective. I’ve tried to take a page from my son’s book and take a moment to appreciate anything new in my world, even if it’s something small.

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That photo of a bedroom — white bedspread, two bedside lamps, a bit of light coming in off the far wall, and a brown ceiling fan — comes via Lotus Design N Print and Unsplash.

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That’s Probably Normal.

On a call today, a client asked me an interesting question. “A few people unsubscribe every time we send an email,” they said. “Is that normal, or is that something that happens just to us?”

The good news, I told them, is that it happens to everyone. I used to write a newsletter called This Week in Cats, which had a 60%+ open rate — at a time in which being above 40% was rare — and we saw unsubscribes every week. (I still have no idea what those readers thought they were getting into.) If that newsletter lost readers every week, then every newsletter will lose readers.

But the bigger thing: I’m glad they had the courage to ask the question. Building something new can be a lonely business. It takes guts to be willing to ask: Is this normal? Or am I going through something that nobody else goes through?

Be brave enough to ask. You might find that what you’re going through is a lot more common than you think.

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That’s a photo of an early edition of This Week in Cats, featuring that week’s cat of the week — a cat, with a white belly and brown and black striped fur, sitting upright and looking surprisingly sad.

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So What Are You Doing Here?

We moved this month from New York City to Park City, Utah. It’s gorgeous here — I’m writing this as the sun sets, and I’m watching it set from my living room window.

On a daily basis, I see people biking and running on the trail that runs near our backyard. I see people with kayaks strapped to their roofs and people with hiking backpacks heading out for a big hike.

These first few weeks here, for me, have been filled not with outdoorsy trips but with other stuff — with calls, with emails, with lots and lots of unpacking.

So Sally and I have had this recurring conversation: If we’re going to live in a place this wonderful, we need to take advantage of it. I don’t know if we’ll be here for a year or forever, but I need to treat it like we’re only here for a short period of time — that way, I’ll have the urgency to take advantage of this place and do all the stuff I should be doing in a city like this.

I could work from anywhere, but I’ve chosen to live here. And if I’m not going to make time to enjoy this place, what exactly am I doing here?

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I took that photo on a morning walk with my son here in Park City. It was sunny and bright — basically a perfect morning to walk along one of the city’s many trails.

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