After weeks of back and forth around a joint presentation, the CEO of the company we were in talks with left. Suddenly, there’s a new boss, a new team, and the whole process starts from scratch. I smiled when I saw the email. I don’t think my slides will go to waste. They can be amusing, the tides of time and business.

In German, when we do work that ends up being futile, we say it’s “for the cat.” The expression might go back to a fable about a blacksmith who, willing to accept any payment, tries to feed his cat with the mere “Thanks!” from his customers. Soon, the cat starves, and the blacksmith is forced to charge fixed prices like everyone else.

Frustration is the easy choice when we fear our work might have been for the cat, but the truth is we rarely know in the moment. It’s too soon to tell. Sometimes, working for the cat can be a blessing. What if the project just didn’t sit right? When it feels off from the beginning, perhaps our starving cat took a bullet in our stead.

When you’re happy to be here, ultimately, nothing is for the cat. You show up, try to help out, and whoever is the recipient of your generosity will be glad to receive it at the time. Sometimes in life, we get something for nothing—so at other times, we must do something for nothing in return. Trust fate to figure it out for you, and, in the meantime, don’t worry if no one thanks you for it.

My fiancée recently asked me this. I was nervous about a variety of projects going past their deadlines given some reshuffling in our planning at work and me being out sick for a week.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized the projects veering off course was due to external factors. A request from a senior leader here, a life event there. Plus, given my junior rank in the firm, the best I could likely do was to form alternative solutions, present them, and let my boss decide. That’s exactly what I ended up doing, and, as usual, it all turned out fine.

When a ship gets hit by a cannonball from the enemy’s fleet, it is not the oarsmen’s job to bring the vessel back on track. Only the captain has enough visibility to call the next maneuver.

Hierarchy aside, however, I think the truth of the matter is this: You’re never paid enough to worry. What’s a CEO’s salary compared to the company’s market capitalization? 0.01%? Ultimately, even the person who all fingers point to in the end is but a small fish in a vast ocean.

At the end of the day, none of us are paid to sit there in anxiety. We are paid to show up, do our best, solve problems, and try again tomorrow. As long as you do that, you’ll be fine at any job—and if ever you’re not, a million more of them awaits.

George Lee may not have been part of Bruce Lee’s bloodline, but he was definitely family. As Bruce’s equipment manager—and, more importantly, maker—he forged dozens of specialized training items based on Bruce’s ideas and requests.

As a result of their close relationship, George received many letters from Bruce in his lifetime. Having read most of those letters, one pattern stands out to me: Not once does Bruce criticize George’s work. Whatever his next commission, however many tweaks he asks for, all you’ll ever read is praise for George’s creations. “Magnificent!” “Fantastic!” “Great!”

In one letter, Bruce yet again asks for changes to the latest devices. Here’s how it begins:

“George,
Remember the kicking and punching padded boards you made for me—well, after using them for a while I’ve come to many improvements. When you have time, can you make an extra kicking board and punching board for me? Your kicking board is tops for kicking, no heavy bag can replace it. The accompanying sheets will describe the added improvements.”

Can you see it? Not one word of objection. Only praise—and some ideas for the next iteration. The message is clear: It’s enough to try again. Harsh words, denunciation—we don’t need those to get better. “This was a good attempt, but we can still do better. Let’s try one more time with some twists.” These two sentences can fuel a lifetime of effortless, joyful learning. Bruce was the living embodiment of this attitude. It’s worth emulating.

As long as you still want to improve, look back without judgement, then begin the next round. Life is one long game, and it’s ours to win—if only we keep leveling up.

Talking about not freaking out during major stock market declines in his 2017 annual shareholder letter, Warren Buffett suggested we remember a few select lines from a 19th-century poem by Rudyard Kipling, If:

“If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs…
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting…
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim…
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you…
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it.”

It’s good advice even before it feels like the world is ending. When your team is freaking out about an imminent crisis, maintain your zen. When your results seem due but haven’t arrived yet, sit tight. When you’ve thought so much it feels like you’ve thought of everything, just stop thinking. And when few others have faith in you, remember your best reasons to have faith in yourself.

Keep your cool. The sun always rises.

It’s a question that deserves asking. And often. Today at work, four people were discussing the specifics of a video I didn’t know we were creating, nor what for. So I asked: “What are we doing here?” No one had an answer, and if nothing else, it showed us: Perhaps we are trying to do too much.

My fiancée noted that the community team for her product didn’t seem to substantially increase the user numbers. I had a lucid moment and pointed out: “Your product has 1.8 million users. The community team consists of three people. If they give a talk to 1,000 people, and they all end up using it—which would be a tremendous result—you wouldn’t even see a blip in the metrics.” “Wow,” she said. “That is a good point!” I don’t know if “grow the users” is part of that team’s mandate. I’m sure it’s not the only one. But in any case, that team must keep asking: “What are we doing?”

I was out sick for a week, and when I came back, my team had started on a project I was supposed to lead. That’s totally fine, of course, but as a result, the target tone of the project shifted several times in two days. Do we want a technical primer? An extended marketing video? An educational mini-course? The first thing I had to do when I got back was ask: “What are we doing?” If multiple people are involved, working out the answer can take days—which makes it all the more important. There’s little worse than sprinting through a process no one feels they approved in hindsight.

The best questions are often the ones we daren’t ask because we think there must be an obvious answer we’re missing. Usually, we’re not, and other people have the same query on their mind. Even so, it is better to risk looking like a fool today than to guarantee we’ll look like one tomorrow. Have the courage to ask the simple questions again and again. Questions like, “What are we doing?”

In a world where everyone’s brain is constantly overloaded to begin with, it’s merely the default. Who knows? Maybe people are quietly nodding along to your work. Sure, that’s not enough in the long run, but while you’re improving, it does just as well.

When we complain about how few responses our work elicits, we tend to believe the alternative is praise from lots of people. But what if it’s only criticism? Take any ride-hailing or food delivery service. How often do you give five stars? Once a year, maybe? But whenever the slightest detail is off, chances are, you’ll complain and try to get some of your money back.

It’s normal. Everyone does it. But it also means as a restaurant on a food delivery platform, you can be happy if one in ten interactions is a positive one—and the other nine don’t end in bad reviews. It’s a minefield of social feedback, and so every place with a five-star rating is akin to a miracle.

Wherever you happen to create, you’re already winning if the deck isn’t stacked against you. Silence can be frustrating, but if you consider it an upgrade from negativity, you can focus on its liberating qualities. You’ll only be funonymous for so long. Enjoy it—and don’t let a lack of explosions keep you from mixing more chemicals.

Every time I see the words on the big screen again, I marvel at the brilliance behind the name: “a Working Title production.” Working Title is one of Britain’s most successful movie studios ever, the company behind films like Love Actually, Darkest Hour, and Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, among many others. Making their own name one that would forever remain in progress didn’t just make for great marketing. It’s also a good reminder there’s always work left to be done.

When I write, 99% of the time, I also do so under a working title. It helps in several ways. For one, there are now some words where there used to be none, making starting the actual draft a little less intimidating. For another, it’s a working title—if push came to shove, as a title, it would work. So if nothing else, I’ve already got a name under which I can ship the piece if need be. That’s reassuring. At the same time, it’s a working title—a title very much still in the works. I can change it any time. That, too, is reassuring—and thus the writer climbs the confidence ladder, one small step after the other.

There’ll always be exceptions, but however soon you can, give your work a title. It takes the pressure off in multiple ways and provides a target to aim at to boot. Who knows? Ship enough working titles, and maybe sometime, we’ll remember you as the Working Title of your field: always tinkering on another potential hit, yet never quite done after shipping the last one.

The Green Hornet is a superhero who’s been reinterpreted many times since his invention in 1936. Similar to Batman, he’s a wealthy publisher who fights crime as a masked vigilante at night. In a 1966 TV show edition, his sidekick and loyal driver, Kato, received a significant upgraded to his previously only alluded to martial arts skills. Why? Bruce Lee played the part.

Despite the show’s brief, one-season run, many a young fan adored Kato’s cool moves in bringing down the bad guys. Plus, for once, it wasn’t just the main character dealing all the damage. With Lee’s height of only 1.72 m, in this case, it was literally “the little guy” providing inspiration to people all around the country.

One such inspired young girl, named Vicki, summoned her courage to send Bruce a fan letter. She asked him whether he used karate in the show and how she could best break a brick with her hand. In Letters of the Dragon, we can read Bruce’s response.

Always a teacher, Bruce first ensured his fan had all the facts: “Dear Vicki, the art I use on TV is not karate. It is the ancestor of karate and is known as gung fu, which is of Chinese origin (so is karate).” And then, instead of giving her action-hero platitudes, Bruce decided to continue to teach. In fact, the little piece of wisdom he shared next was sage advice I hope Vicki ended up remembering for the rest of her life: “Breaking boards and bricks are mere stunts and are not recommendable for anyone, especially a girl like you. Techniques are the main goal you should work at. If you want to break something, use a hammer.”

Watch a good kung fu movie. Most of the time, the master does nothing. They only fight when they have to. Similarly, Jet Li has never been in a real fight—and Bruce Lee did not smash bricks in his spare time.

If you want strength, accept. If you want inspiration, dive into a good story. Use that strength and inspiration to bring about real change. After all, more things in life need mending than tearing apart. But if you ever do want to break something, well, then just use a hammer—because even superheroes need efficiency.

I’m neither the best nor the most passionate cook. One reason is that, in the kitchen, I can’t multitask to save my life. Not that anyone can, but when I have to chop this, throw that into the pan, turn down the heat here, and quickly whisk everything over a slight boil there, my mind explodes. To avoid the stress, I must prepare, line up all the dominoes, and then go as sequentially as the recipe will allow.

My fiancée, meanwhile, loves it. When I watch her, it appears like a cartoon scene, where stuff is flying out of a dust cloud left, right, and center, only for a perfect dish to magically emerge at the end.

Given our usual kitchen context, I was more than surprised to find myself shouting instructions at her Gordon Ramsay–style the first time we played Overcooked 2. The goal of the game is to work well with your partner in order to serve your restaurant customers the right dishes in the right order. To me, despite the funny plot twists and kitchen settings, from a graveyard to a hot air balloon, it seems about as close to a real restaurant kitchen to me as it gets.

It took less than a minute for me to get completely roped in. “You need to announce the orders! Where is my chopped salad? I need more pasta, more pasta!!” Ironically, this time, my girlfriend felt overwhelmed. “So many icons on the screen, so many tasks to take care of!” The game is a great exercise in real-time communication, and we’re having fun, but it was marvelous to see our talents reversed: me shuttling dishes over the counter, her not sure what to put into which pan.

It’s not just differing skills that make great complements. It can also be the same skills in different arenas. Find your criss-cross talents with others, and, every day, you’ll understand a little better why you need both like and unlike to make the perfect match.

Hober Mallow was never a man of the church, yet he still ends up drawing a large stroke in the Foundation’s big picture. Before he returns to his usual trade of, well, trade, but also thievery and deceit, however, he does get to share with someone special—someone special who, unlike him, always believed, and who represents hope above all else.

“I was a shitty student of the Church,” Hober opens, “but I remember this, uh, homily. A parable. About how life is like collecting jewels in a bag. And in the end, you don’t want the bag to be full. You want it to be empty…because you’ve given them all away.”

For once in their short relationship, Hober gets to be the giver of hope instead of its recipient, reminding his love how she, too, has received many a helping hand along the way.

Sometimes, our jewel bags run out before we’re done. We’ve got no gifts left, and we’re running on empty for a while—until someone comes along and puts a new shiny stone into our purse. A good story to take with us. An outpouring of unconditional love. A friendly face to call upon in need.

Whenever you’re feeling jewel-less, remember: The next gem will find its way to you—and should it one day not, then at least you know you’ve left nothing on the table. You played this life with all you had, and the only reason you’re ending on zero is because you did the noblest thing one can do with their treasures: You gave them all away.