I don’t like karaoke, but I think my perception is beginning to change. Why don’t I like karaoke? For the same reason many, maybe most people don’t like it: I can’t sing.

Yesterday, my girlfriend sent me a video of her friends at karaoke. The song was Lose Yourself by Eminem. Now that I would sing. Or rap, rather. What makes this song different than any other song? I like it. I like the lyrics. I like trying to get the lyrics right, and I don’t mind messing them up a bit in front of other people.

I realized that karaoke is not about showing off. People don’t go there to try and look good while they sing. In fact, for some, how bad everyone is seems to be half the fun. No, karaoke is not about singing will – it is about giving people permission to sing.

“Here is a safe space. Sing to your heart’s content. Nothing else matters.” Most people can’t sing, and yet most people love music. Ergo, most people would love to be able to sing but usually not enough to actually pursue that dream. Karaoke fills the gap. It offers a space for singing independent of quality, and to millions of people, that space is priceless.

No amount of listening to music or seeing the pros do it well can make up for my inability to sing. I can either commit to the long and arduous path of learning to sing or shut up and enjoy music in various settings.

Thanks to karaoke, however, there’s now one more thing I can do: I can sing without needing to improve, at least on occasion. I can enjoy the act of singing without having to turn it into a performance art or profession, and whether I use that option or not, it provides tremendous relief to both the mind and soul.

The more I think about it, the more I wish we had things like karaoke for other forms of art. Write-e-oke or Paint-e-oke, perhaps. “Here’s some paper. Just write. Write badly. It’s fine. We all write badly here. We read our work afterwards for fun, and then throw it in the trash.”

Without safe environments to practice when we aren’t good yet, many of us will never make it to good in the first place. To some extent, that’s part of the deal, but to another, we’re making improving harder than it needs to be. In fact, even if improving isn’t the goal, practicing some art is usually still worth it. That’s what we need “okes” for.

I’m not saying I’ll immediately jump on the next opportunity, but I think I’m ready to give karaoke another try. I’d really like the permission to sing.

There’s a Fatboy Slim song called “Right Here, Right Now.” Some 15 years ago or so, one of my favorite football freestylers used it in his video, “Timo Is Back Part 3.” It’s a catchy song, and, like Timo’s video, it makes a statement: This is me. I am here. This is what I’m willing to do – right here, right now.

It’s a song that takes a stand, just like Slim has with his electronic music since the late 90s, helping to usher in what’s called the “big beat” genre. After Greta Thunberg gave her world-famous speech at the UN in 2019, at some point using the phrase “right here, right now,” Slim even remixed his old track with parts of Thunberg’s call to action, further reminding us: Climate change is here today, and we must stand our ground now.

There’s a corollary to this phrase, however, and it holds equal assertive power: “Not here, not yet.” When Timo published his video, he also said: “I’m not done.” So did Slim in remixing his track. Still making music 30 years later? Not done. Not here, not yet.

When you have an opportunity to sell your business but feel there are things left undone, challenges you must face yet uncompleted, maybe the time is not here, not yet. If you ship your magnum opus and a follow-up springs to mind six months later – not here, not yet.

Sometimes, “I’m not done” is more powerful than “I’m taking action.” The former affords you a more restful approach. It allows you to admit you don’t necessarily know what you’ll do next, but at least you already know you’re gonna do something before hanging up your cape. Some roads in life, you must walk as far as you can go. You’ll know the end when you get there, and until then, “not here, not yet” is enough.

The other forgiving element of “not here, not yet” is that it allows you to admit you aren’t ready. In the movies, heroes often use “not yet” as a phrase to steady themselves, to find patience, and to prevent the final crescendo from commencing even a second too soon.

When will the gladiator see his dead wife and son again? Not here, not yet. When can Clark Kent reveal his powers to the world? Not here, not yet. When can the Scots finally attack the English? Not here, not yet. It’s okay to need more time. Just hold out a little longer. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow you’ll be stronger.

It’s good to stand your ground. We should yell “right here, right now” more often. Most of the time, however, it is enough to not give up. To keep going quietly. That does not take a bold declaration. You don’t have to ruin your voice over it. All you need to do is whisper “not here, not yet.”

My plane back from Portugal was delayed. The staff were already rolling their eyes at the gate, and after much back and forth, three queues of people standing so close together it might have been just one finally piled down the stairs and towards the aircraft.

To everyone’s further dismay, we found a bus waiting at the bottom of those stairs. 10 minutes in a metal box at 37 degrees centigrade? Not great. Before I even got on, however, there was another obstacle: While everyone around me just boarded the bus, a flight attendant suddenly half-grabbed my suitcase in passing, stopping me in my tracks. “You have to check this bag!” she almost yelled at me.

“What? Why? What’s going on?” You might be familiar with this now common ritual: Airlines allow you to take a small suitcase and, say, a backpack into the plane without checking in any luggage, but then when everyone actually does that, they renege and randomly tell people to check their bags after all.

This has happened to me before, and when they do it at the gate, that’s fine. Sometimes, they’re smart and even offer something in return, like earlier boarding. After all, this is a different deal than the one you had made. Someone nabbing my suitcase at the last second, however, was new to me.

After the lady slapped a tag on both my bag and my boarding pass, she mumbled something about dropping it “somewhere near the plane,” and I thought that did not sound like a convincing plan to actually get my bag back to Germany. I asked her again, and she said to leave it at the stairs going up to the plane. Mind you, however, that in the meantime, about 20 people passed us, happy as clams to enter the bus with their luggage in tow. Needless to say, I did not like the smell of the situation.

After I got on the bus, I noticed only about three other people had tags on their bags. Great. The flight attendant tried to nab another lady as she walked by, which ended in a screaming match and, I believe, the passenger in question retaining full authority over her suitcase.

While I was boiling on the bus, I had an idea of questionable ethics: “What if I just remove the tag? No one will be any the wiser. I enter the plane, put my bag in the overhead compartment, and shush.” I ended up debating this move in my head the entire bus ride but ultimately concluded I shouldn’t do it.

When I actually got to the plane, however, I couldn’t spot anyone taking the bags at first. As I was almost on the stairs up into the cabin already, I saw someone. A few people handed him their bags, but in that moment, something in me snapped, and I held on tight to my little black trolley.

In the end, I snuck it by the flight attendants in the aisle, and while I was waiting in front of my seat for my turn to store my luggage, I instinctively pulled off the tag last-minute. There was a lot of space, by the way. I put my suitcase in the compartment and kept my backpack under my seat.

Later, another guy came to store his bag, and a lady noticed he had a tag on it. “You should have checked this bag!” she told him. The guy just pretended not to understand her. “English? Portuguese? This should have been checked in! But it’s ok.” She didn’t sound convinced.

The lesson of this story is that trust is a micro-habit. It is often established in the details. Had the first lady been more friendly, I might have complied. Had the people at the gate been more proactive about getting people’s luggage early, I might have complied. Had they asked for more people’s suitcases than a random sample of only a handful, I might have complied. The list goes on and on.

There are a thousand small tweaks to this scenario, and it probably takes less than a handful of them for me to hand my suitcase over rather than sneak it into the cabin. It’s fascinating, really. How you say something. When you say it. The look on your face. The faintest details can make someone insta-adjust their behavior because, deep down in their gut, they no longer trust you (or now suddenly do).

In this case, after several blows to the glass, the circle of trust was broken, and once it is, especially for a short-term transaction like a plane ride, there is no way you’ll rebuild it in time.

The micro-habit aspect of trust is not something you can practice consciously. You’ll rarely observe its minute details in time to adjust them on the fly. No, this kind of trust-building must flow from a larger, more conscious decision to build trust on purpose. To hand out some trust advances as part of whatever you’re trying to accomplish. Only then will the right micro-behaviors follow. The smile at the gate. A friendly tone in a difficult situation. And so on. Your subconscious will take care of the rest.

We tend to make a big deal out of trust, and it is. A loud commitment, a big promise, those things absolutely matter. But we often forget about the little, yet in sum equally powerful, trust-building interactions that happen along the way. Just because we don’t control these aspects as much does not mean they are irrelevant. In fact, they sometimes make or break trust altogether, on occasion overshadowing, or even negating, the big promise they were only supposed to aid.

Every now and then, remember: Trust is both a macro- and a micro-habit. Oh, and don’t sneak your suitcase on the plane.

This morning, I woke up ten minutes before my alarm. I felt rested enough, so I decided to get up. By the time it rang, I had already brushed teeth and done half of my workout. As an overall result, I somehow left the house a solid 20 minutes earlier than I had yesterday.

There’s a variety of factors that needs to come together here, but the point remains the same: A 10-minute head start now might get you much more than a 10-minute advantage later. You will not believe the difference starting ten minutes early will sometimes make, if not for the time table then at least for the feeling. That’s where its true power lies, if you ask me. Emotional momentum.

It is more impactful to know you’re ten minutes early than to be ten minutes early. You feel more confident and more relaxed at the same time. You have a buffer to soften any unexpected turbulences, yet usually, that buffer will go towards doing a better job than you would have otherwise been able to do – once again, if only by emotionally preparing yourself for what’s next.

You won’t always get a 10-minute head start, and you definitely don’t always need one. But at a time when you can easily afford it, energetically speaking, try it. My gut tells me you won’t long to go back to just-in-time logistics.

When I was suffering under Lisbon’s 36-degree scorching sun, I thought that, next time, I should probably visit in April or October rather than July.

When I returned home, however, a heatwave brought temperatures in Munich to, you guessed it, 36 degrees. And the 32 degrees we had the few days before? Those felt much more bearable than before I had left as well.

We don’t always know what our trials are for right when we’re going through them. If all you can find as an introvert is a sales job, maybe that’s not a mistake. Maybe it’s training for something bigger later.

The next time you wonder, “How did I end up here?” consider it might be training. You won’t always need all the stamina you’ve built, but it never hurts to be prepared.

On our 12th grade school trip to Italy, most of us excessively played Pokémon Red and Blue on the bus, the same games we had played when we were eight years old.

On Youtube, someone commented that, even as a grown-up, she still often listens to the songs from kids’ TV shows, like Pokémon, Digimon, or Beyblade. I just did the same on my way to work.

On the plane back from Lisbon, I saw a man in his 70s reading the latest edition of “Lustiges Taschenbuch.” What translates as “funny pocket book” is a monthly collection of Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse comics that has been published by a German company for over 50 years.

If a 70-year-old man can enjoy a comic that was made primarily with 8-year-olds in mind, the takeaway is clear: You are not too old. No matter what you like, want to do, or whose company you prefer, you are not too old.

You may have to surf more carefully when you’re 64 than you would at 18, and you’ll probably discuss different topics with people in their 20s at 40 than you will at 30, but when it comes to art and entertainment, a good chuckle will always be a good chuckle.

Whenever the invisible rules of society feel like they are restricting you from doing something that’s not necessarily a social activity at all, you are misinterpreting the rules. Those limitations aren’t there. They only exist in your head.

Do not feel ashamed, embarrassed, or silly for nerdy hobbies and nostalgia for childhood preoccupations. Usually, those are more authentic, satisfying, and honest than whatever layers of identity we add when the demands of society already interfere with our inner compass.

Now where is my Game Boy? I have some Pokémon to play.

There’s a Blink 182 song called “Reckless Abandon.” It’s about the youthful, somewhat desperate desire to make the most of summer. It could be a bunch of high schoolers or college kids singing it. The lyrics start out hopeful enough with the chorus:

On and on, reckless abandon
Something’s wrong
This is gonna shock them
Nothing to hold on to
We’ll use this song
To lead you on

This group of kids would give anything and everything to “have a summer that they could call a memory full of fun.” Based on what they end up doing, however, the whole thing quickly goes awry. Turning up the music way too loud? Sure. Making fun of your friend’s mom? Okay. But breaking windows, throwing up from alcohol, and feeding the dog hash brownies? Hmm, maybe not.

The next time the chorus repeats in full, the true outcome of their overzealousness is revealed:

And break the truth
With more bad news
We left a scar
Size extra large

The song reminds me a lot of entrepreneurship, especially some of my early heroes. When I first discovered them, be it via their book, blog, or some interview, their mission always seemed clear and coherent. The longer I followed them, however, the more I got the impression that they, too, didn’t know what they were doing or, at the very least, were recklessly abandoning projects left and right.

“This new social media platform is the best! I’ll post there every day! Follow me!” Six months later? Deserted. “I now have a podcast! I’m writing a book! I’m starting this new company!” One year later? Abandoned, abandoned, abandoned.

When you’re starting as an entrepreneur, excessive “thrashing,” as Seth Godin calls it, is part of the deal. You have no clue and no skills, so you must try a lot and give up most of it. The goal, however, is to do this early so you can focus sooner rather than later. Yet, even very successful entrepreneurs keep doing it. Why?

The only projects we must recklessly abandon are the projects we recklessly began. If you hadn’t jumped on Twitter for all the wrong reasons, your motivation to tweet wouldn’t have faded within a week. If you start a podcast only because everyone else has one, how long do you think you’re gonna last?

To some extent, letting go is necessary. At some point, however, dropping projects, things, and people becomes reckless. Your job is to find the line between the two — and then walk on it.

Don’t run through life leaving scars wherever you go. Thrash early, then settle. And if you need a reminder, every once in a while, crank up Reckless Abandon.

“Negativity is totally unnatural,” Eckhart Tolle asserts in The Power of Now. “No other life form on the planet knows negativity — only humans.”

Case in point? The unhappy flower. “Have you ever seen an unhappy flower or a stressed oak tree? Have you come across a depressed dolphin, a frog that has a problem with self-esteem, a cat that cannot relax, or a bird that carries hatred and resentment?” The only time animals are in “a bad mood” is when they live with humans, thus inheriting our negativity, Tolle claims.

I love this analogy for two reasons. First, because it feels inherently, factually true, even though no one will ever prove that hypothesis. Second, it perfectly illustrates that what we strive for when we say “mindfulness” is actually “mindlessness.”

“I have lived with several Zen masters, all of them cats,” Tolle continues. “Even ducks have taught me important spiritual lessons. Just watching them is a meditation. How peacefully they float along, at ease with themselves, totally present in the Now, dignified and perfect as only a mindless creature can be.”

Mindless. No mind. When the mind is absent, what follows is peace.

A flower has no mind and is, therefore, perfect at every stage. In The Practicing Mind, Thomas Sterner explains that a flower simply does whatever a flower does at its current stage of life. A seed must sprout, and a sprout must grow into a stalk. The stalk then grows towards the sun, and eventually, one day, beautiful blossoms appear. Then, they release their seeds and wilt away, starting the process anew.

The flower does not fret about getting to the stage where it blooms. It is not anxious about “making it.” The flower is not worried about how its blossoms will look, nor what the other flowers, let alone humans, will think about them. It is equally unconcerned about dying shortly thereafter, nor sad about the little time it gets to spend in its “ideal” state.

Do you see the potential for tremendous peace in living more like a flower? Imagine waking up in the morning, unfazed by the ebb and flow of everyday life. You do your best to stay in the moment and simply complete whatever tasks lie ahead. And the next day, you do it all over again. You are perfect at every stage.

If you ask Will Smith, affording yourself this kind of mental and emotional space is what true (self-)love is about: “I think that the real paradigm for love is ‘Gardener-Flower.’ The relationship that a gardener has with a flower is the gardener wants the flower to be what the flower is designed to be, not what the gardener wants the flower to be.”

“Watch any plant or animal and let it teach you acceptance of what is,” Tolle encourages us. “Surrender to the Now. Let it teach you Being. Let it teach you integrity which means to be one, to be yourself, to be real. Let it teach you how to live and how to die, and how not to make living and dying into a problem.”

Treat yourself like a flower. Look after yourself so you may sprout, grow, and blossom. Give yourself whatever you need at any current stage, but never be in a hurry to get through the whole cycle of life. Take your mind out of the equation whenever you can, and negativity will subside.

Unhappy flowers and stressed animals don’t exist because they were never meant to be. There is no reason we should assume anything else for our own, beautiful species.

It’s a paradox, but it works. In fact, it’s the only thing that truly does. If entrepreneurs, artists, and makers only gave the world what it’s already clamoring for, we’d drown in a sea of fast food, clickbait, and plastic smartphones even more so than we are – and yes, that is possible.

But the only reason we have smartphones in the first place is that someone, namely Steve Jobs, made one because he wanted it. I don’t know how much he wanted it for consumers vs. for himself, but creation is the one time ego plays an important, even essential role: If you’re not stubborn in bringing something from the realm of imagination into reality, your best work will never see the light of day.

For entrepreneurs, this often means scratching their own itch. Solve a problem you struggle with, and if other people face the same issue, you may have yourself a business. This concept extends far beyond being pragmatic, however. If you want to see something in the world that’s not there yet, no matter how harebrained the idea, it is your job, even your cosmic duty, to build it, for you have no clue how well received it might end up being – and neither do we.

How often do we not know what we want until we see it? This applies to food, friends, jobs, even who we’ll marry. It is not always the case, but in principle, no field of choice is off limits. Yet, on those rare occasions when we do know exactly what we want, we shy away as soon as we realize it doesn’t exist yet. What are you waiting for?! For someone else to make the thing? Nonsense! Roll up your sleeves and get to work!

It is ironic that only we can be the people to give the world what we most desperately want to see in it, but that’s how any kind of progress is made.

By the way, it may not always be a tangible thing. We’re not all here to make smartphones, paint, or build chairs. Sometimes, what only you can give is a feeling, an attitude, a moral stance. You can show love where there seems to be room for none or put your foot down and say, “No! Until this far, and no further.”

Whatever your contribution will be, give the world what you want, and you’ll always feel like the world has enough to offer. Content. Satisfied. After all, you made it so – and you played your part in the grand cycle of history to perfection.

There’s that saying about making your bed and then having to sleep in it. “You’ve made this choice, and now it is also you who must face the consequences.”

Actually, our decisions rarely happen in isolation. Most of them affect other people in one way or another. A breakup is not an event we carry alone. Nor is any decision made at work or in business. We have customers, coworkers, and partners.

Even what you choose to eat can impact other people. Not just the ones who produce, market, and sell the food you buy, but also those close to you. If you eat yourself sick, they might be the ones caring for you, be that until your stomach bug has passed or providing lifelong assistance in your battle against diabetes.

The point is that, most of the time, you’re not just making your bed. You’re making other people’s beds as well – yet they too must then sleep in them, even if the choice was cast upon them.

It’s easy to wander through life recklessly when you believe you’re the only one dealing with the fallout of your actions, but the truth is you almost never are. You’ll shoulder the brunt of it, sure, but there’ll always be someone in the periphery, and we know radiation can kill even at a distance.

Be a good innkeeper, will you? Know who’s around your guest house. Remember whose beds you’ll have to make beside your own, and then do it with intention.