I had an interesting conversation about relative suffering the other day, and I’ve been thinking about it since. No one lives a perfectly charmed life, and everyone will endure suffering at some point. Comparing your suffering to others is rarely healthy or helpful.

For instance, if you’ve lost a loved one and you’re grieving, it probably doesn’t help even one little bit to learn of someone else who lost two loved ones. Even if there were some sort of objective measure of pain and grief (which of course there is not), the person who lost two people doesn’t necessarily suffer more than the person who lost one.

I think grief and mourning are actually far more binary than we often think; or if not fully binary (i.e. grieving or not with no relevant degree of intensity), then at least the spectrum of feeling is narrower than we think. And that’s where perspective helps us – not to rank ourselves on some vast bell curve of pain and loss, but to help us recognize when grief isn’t appropriate at all.

Some of this is of course subjective – I won’t tell someone not to grieve over a lost pet even if I don’t personally do that. But it means if the thing that’s causing you abject grief is being out of chocolate milk, it may do well to know what causes suffering in others in order to have a little perspective.

And if, in chasing perspective, you also gain sympathy – so much the better.

Every aspect of your life can be stripped for parts to build some other aspect, if you need to. You’ll often do this inadvertently, but without direction it can be sloppy and destructive. You can get much better at it by doing it intentionally.

Imagine two of your friends, each in a relationship. The relationships aren’t working out, and both of your friends decide to end their relationships with their respective partners. One of them, let’s say Kim, ends their relationship maturely. Kim has a conversation, treats their now ex with respect, and quashes rumors among friends by being transparent (while still remaining respectful of their ex’s privacy, of course). They split up any mutual possessions and maintain friendships.

Now picture the other friend, Pat. Pat decides to make this into A Thing ™. Pat dumps the other person in a big blowup fight, trashes them publicly, creates divides among friends. Pat goes into hysterics at the mention of any of the places they used to go together and throws away or burns all the mutual possessions.

Kim has clearly done a better job salvaging the useful bits of that part of their life. Those bits can be turned into something else very easily! Lots of friends, a good network of communication, even some nice outfits that they’ve cultivated. They’re more ready to date again sooner, because they recycle well – not to mention just treating someone else more nicely.

Pat has to get all new stuff. A new “dating circle,” new places to eat and other date locations, etc.

This is everything in your life! When you leave a job, you want to make sure you’re keeping your network, your skills, your reputation, maybe even your stapler. When you move, you don’t just throw everything away and buy new stuff when you get there. (Note – it’s totally okay to SELL everything and buy new stuff, especially if it makes the move easier! But waste not, want not.)

Use your life efficiently. Some things are hard to build. Even if they reach a point where they no longer serve your goals and aspirations, you can – and should – use all that you can from what you’ve made.

You’ve heard the story of the tortoise & the hare, I’m sure. Big race, rabbit is a lock, turtle comes from behind because he never gives up, etc.

I really dislike how this story is told.

Every time you hear this story, its target audience appears to be tortoises. In other words, this story is always told as advice to never give up and keep chugging along, because then you’ll win!

Not only is that kind of silly advice, but it misses out on the amazing advice that this story actually holds if told correctly.

See, “slow and steady” might accomplish goals, but it doesn’t actually win races. “Slow and steady” is great advice from the standpoint of personal improvement. If you’re trying to lose weight, don’t worry about how fast you’re doing it – slow and steady is great advice. Lose weight in a healthy way, keep consistent, and you’ll get there.

But races involve other people. And in an actual race between a tortoise and a hare, the hare is going to win. Maybe you could tell this story as a sort of marathon-versus-sprint story, where “slow and steady” works because the turtle is a better distance runner than the rabbit or something, but that’s not the story at all. The real story contains a fantastic lesson, but it never seems to get emphasized.

The real moral of this story, the incredible value it contains, is this:

“Don’t blow an early advantage by being arrogant and lazy.”

That’s the power of this story. The tortoise didn’t win; the hare lost. The hare didn’t lose because of some inherent quality of the tortoise, either – the hare lost because it had a strong lead and took a nap. Arrogance and laziness lost that race. It had nothing to do with “slow and steady” versus quick. This lesson that if you just go “slow and steady” you’ll win every race is hogwash.

You’ll win every race you’re capable of winning, if you never get cocky and take naps while you’re still running.

Don’t mistake “being in the lead” with “already won.” This story should be told to hares, not to tortoises. If you tell this story to a tortoise, you’re saying “the other person might be better than you in the qualities measured by this particular competition, but if you just keep plugging away you’ll win anyway.” Ridiculous! If you’re the tortoise, you win only if the hare messes up.

So the lesson is: if you’re the hare, don’t mess up. And if you’re the tortoise, become the hare. You win the race by improving, not by just doing the same old thing over and over and hoping for a mistake from your superior competition.

And therein lies the deeper, perhaps truer meaning. Unlike the characters in the story, we’re none of us trapped in the skin of a hare nor a tortoise. We can be either, each of us, and we can change over time. We can start the race as a tortoise but choose to put in the work to become a hare. And once we’re a hare, we can remember the lessons of this story, and we can do it all – we can be good at what we do, and simultaneously avoid the arrogance and laziness that threatens to unseat us.

Quick and steady wins the race.

Earlier this week I had a day that didn’t go so well. I’ll spare you the unimportant details, but at the end of the day I looked back and was deeply unsatisfied.

I did something different with that feeling than I normally do.

Normally, when I feel that particular feeling, I try to salvage. I push myself, work on something, commit to not sleeping until I’ve accomplished something that makes the day a win overall. Sometimes that actually works and often it doesn’t. And when it doesn’t work, it makes things far worse.

So instead, this time, I just said to myself: “Take the loss. It’s one day. Get some sleep.” I didn’t try to work myself into a stupor to salvage it. And perhaps even more importantly, I didn’t say “I’ll work twice as hard tomorrow to make up for it.” That’s rarely healthy and is a good way to create a line of dominoes.

I woke up the next morning feeling great. And I had a great day.

I’m writing this because I’m sure that a single win like that won’t totally change my habits. I’m sure the impulse will still be there, the next time I have a bad day, to try to grind into the wee hours trying to figure out some way to scrape up a victory.

But writing this is the first step to reminding myself to cut my poor bones a little slack sometimes, too.

The concept of the “secret menu” fascinates me. If you’re not familiar with the concept, it has a few layers. The most basic version is that sometimes a particular restaurant (usually a chain/franchise) has certain items that they have the capacity to make, but that they don’t advertise (or don’t advertise broadly). Starbucks was probably the most famous example of this, but plenty of other restaurants have followed suit.

There’s a lot of benefit to doing this seemingly weird thing. First off, overly-complex menus of choices are daunting. You really hurt your efficiency if your customers can choose from hundreds of different options. You want most people to just know the most basic items, because you’ll sell a lot of those and be quick. But having several more complex things on a “secret menu” can also help capture additional demographics – foodies and the like, plus people who just love fun secrets and scavenger hunts and things like that.

Even outside of the restaurant industry though, it’s really interesting to look at the things that a company would offer to its customers and clients but not directly advertise. We even have a few of these at my work, and it’s absolutely a good idea.

Why would it be a good idea to hide certain things you can do? For one, because complexity isn’t your friend. Most of the “secret menu” items are extremely narrow, niche and/or conditional, so they won’t apply to 99% of customers. Making a potential customer read all of them as they’re electing to work with you is pointless – and can even work against you. Instead, our internal experts know all of them, and have them in their back pocket if a client expresses a particular hardship that the “secret menu” service could solve.

If you’re a professional landscaper but you also happen to know how to safely transport bees from one hive to another, it doesn’t make sense to advertise the bee-transportation services heavily. First off, most of your main clients won’t have bee-hives, so it’s wasted space. Second, if you advertise it then many potential landscaping clients may incorrectly assume that you exclusively (or at least primarily) work with people with beehives, and that could severely limit your customer base. Lastly, you might only have the capacity to do that once in a while, so while you don’t mind doing it for the odd customer here and there that needs it, you don’t really want to be doing it all the time. In this case, you might have all the tools needed to do the task and even a set price and contract made up for it, but you don’t advertise it. But if a landscaping client happens to mention that as they’re re-doing their property they’d also love to find someone to relocate their hive – boom, you’re on it.

Whatever you do, it’s definitely important to remember that your simplest ‘core offering’ is probably the right thing to lean on as a company brand. It can be clear and tell your story best. If they need something else you can be prepared to say “yes!” But you don’t need to tell someone in advance every single way you might do so.

The fully aligned system of your mind, body and spirit is an infrastructure. And like all infrastructures designed to support activity, it has maximum stress capacities in various conditions and for various types of strain.

It’s like a bridge. Imagine a bridge with a one-ton weight capacity. If more than a ton of cars are on the bridge at once, the bridge is very likely to collapse.

And here’s the thing: it does not matter one bit whether those cars are part of a parade or a funeral procession.

In other words, whether something is “good” or “bad,” whether it’s “happy” or “sad;” these things don’t really affect whether or not they’re stressful.

But we, both as individuals and as a culture at large, tend to minimize the right to feel stressed when the things causing the stress are good. If your spouse loses their job, your basement floods, your dog gets sick and your car breaks down all in the same week, people are quick to show their support for you and encourage you to take some time to yourself. Maybe a day off, someone brings you soup, that sort of thing.

But “happy stress” can sometimes be even more straining because you’re sort of just told to “suck it up.” Heck, you probably even tell yourself that – I know I do. Got a new promotion, kids get a new puppy, big trip coming up, etc. – it’s still stress, but because it stems from good things we don’t think we’re allowed to be overwhelmed.

We ignore early warning signs. We work harder to fight through it. We don’t take care of ourselves, because the circumstances are “good.” But you can still hit a wall. You can still put so much pressure on the infrastructure that it starts to crack. Maybe that looks like making poor or impulsive choices. Maybe it looks like ignoring valuable but less exciting or pressing things. Whatever it is, it can still be harmful.

Whether things are good or bad overall, take care of yourself. It’s okay to take a day off and be calm, even if all the other days are good ones – sometimes they can just be a lot and that’s fine to acknowledge.

Restrictions breed creativity.

A great way to either get better at something is to challenge yourself to do it without the most obvious tool or method. For instance: get from your home to your office, but you can’t use your car. Or: make and eat an ice cream sundae, but you can’t use any spoons. Stuff like that.

Immediately the most basic of tasks forces you to engage creatively. You’ll figure out new methods and think in new ways in order to overcome the challenge this once-simple task now presents.

And sometimes – not every time, but sometimes – you actually find a better method, because the most obvious route isn’t always the best one.

Here’s a real-world example: go find a new job, but you can’t use any online “job boards.” Stay off of those sites. For a lot of people, that’s actually a better way to go – eliminating the most obvious tool.

Try it. Challenge yourself. See what you find.

As a teenager, my father would occasionally joke and call me “One-Trip Johnny.” This particular nickname came about every time my mother would return from the grocery store and ask for my help bringing in the groceries from the car. No matter how many bags there were, I would always get them all in one trip.

My parents would laugh, baffled at how much I would strain and struggle and inflict pain on my hands, arms and back to haul in all these bags in one go. But to me, it made perfect sense – and still does. Maximum effort, minimum time.

Some people think of that mentality as “working too hard.” But that’s only because they’re looking at a snapshot. The intense moment. The moments surrounding it – moments doing what I want, not hauling two bags of groceries at a time – you don’t see those.

I put my work where I want it, so I can have my time where I want it, too.

My father and I were in the house one day near the beginning of spring. It was a beautiful weekend day, and I was a teenager – 15 or 16 as I recall. The doorbell rang and my father answered to find two young boys, about 10, wearing somewhat threadbare baseball uniforms. Parked at the street was a running car with an adult male inside.

The two boys explained that they were out attempting to raise money to fund their Little League team that year. They were looking to raise $700, and one of the boys carried a donation jar.

Now, my father absolutely loves encouraging this sort of thing. He beamed when he told the boys, “I’ve got good news for you. I’ve got a bunch of chores I need done around the yard – carrying out some old boxes from my garage, cleaning up some weeds along the fence, and so on. Go get your whole team over here to do these chores and I’ll fund the whole thing, you won’t have to go to any other houses today.”

The kids’ eyes went wide. They practically raced down to the waiting car to tell their chaperone (one of the kids’ dads, it would turn out) of their great fortune. I smiled too – this was so characteristically my dad. He was willing to pay about 10x as much as the chores were worth in order to support some local youths out doing something good. (Plus, I’d otherwise be doing those chores for free, so I was happy!)

But it didn’t last.

Less than a few minutes later there was an angry knock at the door. My father opened it to find the two boys looking downtrodden, and the dad looking angry. This guy proceeded to scold my father – to yell at him! – for suggesting that the kids actually work for the money. They were just out trying to collect donations, he said. He wasn’t trying to put the kids to work, heaven forbid.

Now, these weren’t exactly difficult chores. My father wasn’t suggesting they go into a coal mine. He wasn’t even going to have them use anything sharp, for crying out loud. Pull weeds, carry out old boxes of junk to the curb, pick up sticks that my dog consistently left in the yard, that sort of stuff. A few hours tops of easy labor for a whole team, and then no more fundraising. My father was donating – he was just doing it through the vehicle of self-respect and an honest day’s work. Values my father believed in tremendously.

And this other dad apparently didn’t.

My father was the not the kind of guy to ever hand someone a dollar. But he’d run his car through a charity car wash five times in a row and tip an extra ten bucks each time. When a friend of his fell on hard times when she lost her job, he made sure she could get as much money as she needed to pay her bills – by cleaning for us. The dignity of work, and the motivation it brings to improve your station, were things that mattered to him. They didn’t seem to matter to this other man, who stood yelling about my father’s attitude while my father stared at the guy in shock and the kids looked embarrassed.

To my father’s credit, he didn’t yell back. I feel like if those kids weren’t standing there this might have gone differently, but my father simply said “Sorry I couldn’t help you out, good luck,” and shut the door.

I like to think that despite the guy’s insistence on having a terrible attitude, that those kids did in fact learn a lesson about dignity and self-respect that day. They wanted to work. They immediately saw what a good deal they’d lucked into, and they clearly were disappointed that it didn’t work out. The man might have tried to lecture them on “not letting people take advantage of you” or some nonsense, but I like to think that they knew, in their hearts, the truth. That the only person who had cheated them that day was the guy driving the car.