Life Lesson

I once watched a friend do a magic trick without the hat, without the rabbit, without the dramatic wrist flick. He just looked at someone mid sentence and said, “More of that attitude, please.”

And the room changed.

Not because it was polite. Because it was precise. It was a spotlight aimed at the best part of a person, the part that usually only gets noticed when it is missing. We are trained to be smoke detectors for flaws. We sniff for the burn. We hunt for what is off. We give feedback like we are issuing parking tickets.

But “more of that” is not a ticket. It is a map.

It tells someone, right there in the wild, that their goodness is visible. It gives them a handle to grab onto and pull themselves forward. It turns a fleeting moment into a repeatable behavior. That is the real trick. Not praise. Pattern recognition.

Stay Positive & More Of The Good Stuff

Back when Google Reverse Image Search felt like sorcery, it wasn’t because the internet suddenly got smarter. It was because you finally had a crowbar.

You could point at a thing, any thing, a jacket, a logo, a mysterious mushroom, a mid century chair that looked like it had opinions, and say: Explain yourself.

That was the real magic: starting with the outcome.

Most of us still live the other way around. We begin with intention, then stumble into results like a drunk trying to unlock the wrong car with confidence. We write the email, we design the slide, we draft the landing page, we make the reel. Then we squint at the output and pretend it is what we meant.

Reverse engineering flips the whole circus tent.

Now the modern move is even weirder, and honestly more fun. You can upload what you see into ChatGPT and ask: “What prompt would create this?” Suddenly you’re not guessing in the dark. You’re studying the blueprint of the thing you want. You’re stealing fire without needing to become a volcano.

And here’s the punchline George Carlin would grin at: most people won’t do it. They will complain about tools, timing, talent, and the cruelty of Monday mornings. Meanwhile the cheat code is sitting right there, glowing, saying: Start with the finish line.

If you like an output, interrogate it.

Ask what ingredients made it. Ask what constraints shaped it. Ask what tone, structure, and assumptions are hiding in the walls like tiny motivated termites.

Reverse engineering is not copying. It’s learning the recipe, then deciding what kind of hungry you actually are.

Stay Positive & Hungry For Magic, I Hope

Can it be simpler?

Can it be clearer?

Can it be lighter?

Can it be smaller (but still meaningful)?

Can it be more focused?

Can it be more honest?

Can it be more consistent?

Can it be more repeatable?

Can it be more sustainable?

Can it be more inclusive?

Can it be more human?

Can it be more fun?

Can it be more generous?

Can it be more collaborative?

Can it be more aligned with what I value?

Can it be more aligned with what my customer/reader/partner actually needs?

Can it reduce friction (for me or for them)?

Can it remove a step entirely?

Can it remove a decision point?

Can it prevent rework?

Can it create momentum?

Can it create trust?

Can it create learning, not just output?

Can it be easier to start?

Can it be easier to finish?

If you use curiosity with intention, it cuts clean through the junk that’s been taking up space in your brain and your calendar.

That’s dangerous.

But the you can get even more dangerous when notice which questions you keep defaulting to. Those questions are quietly building your life.

Pause for a moment here and ask:

Are these the right questions to get me to my goal…

Stay Positive & Or Do They Just Make You Feel Like You’re Moving?

A five year old with a camera is basically a tiny philosopher with sticky fingers.

Mine said, very calmly, as if she was announcing the law of gravity: “I don’t want to take pictures of beautiful things. I want to take pictures of random things so you can tell me about them.”

Most adults spend their lives trying to upgrade random into impressive. We want the polished hobby, the respectable skill, the thing we can eventually be “good” at, like goodness is the admission price for joy.

But there’s a secret passageway in the brain that only opens when you go from focused to random on purpose.

You’ve been grinding on the same problem for three hours? Go learn one chord on a guitar. Rearrange your spice rack like it’s an art exhibit. Watch a video about how glass is made. Walk outside and name five things you usually ignore.

Not to become amazing.

To become awake.

Random is not a distraction. It’s a doorway back into curiosity, which is the original engine of competence, creativity, and feeling like you’re actually alive in your own day.

Stay Positive & We Wake Up Once A Day (More If We’re Intentional About It)

Everyone says they want honesty.

They want it the way people want “fresh air” while keeping every window nailed shut.

What you actually want is a bullshit spotter. Not a hater. Not a motivational poster with teeth. A real human who can look at your story, your excuses, your perfectly polished “I’m just busy right now,” and calmly say: That’s not true. Try again.

But the secret is not finding someone brave enough to call you out.

The secret is becoming someone stable enough to take it.

Without preparation, feedback is just an unsolicited home invasion. Your ego grabs the baseball bat. Your nervous system hits the panic button. You start defending the old script like it pays rent.

So set it up.

Pick a person who loves your future more than they love your comfort. Give them a job title. Make it explicit: “If you hear me rationalizing, call it.” Agree on a phrase. Something almost funny, so it doesn’t feel like a courtroom. “That’s a bedtime story.” “That’s a smoke bomb.”

Then do the grown up part: when they use it, don’t argue. Don’t explain. Don’t litigate your intentions. Say, “Tell me what you’re seeing.” Write it down. Thank them like they just pulled a tick off your brain.

You don’t need more willpower.

You need a mirror that talks back.

Stay Positive & To Practice Not Throwing It Across The Room

There is a tiny, invisible committee living in your calendar. It’s made up of Past You, who was feeling ambitious, and Future You, who is always “totally going to have more time next week.”

Today, we fire the committee.

Here’s the exercise: scan your schedule or your work to dos and, for each item, ask one rude question.

If this got killed, what would I replace it with?

Not “what would I do instead,” because that question invites nonsense. Doom scrolling. Kitchen archaeology. The sacred ritual of reorganizing a drawer that contains nothing but rubber bands and shame.

No, ask it like you mean it. Like your day has a bouncer.

When you don’t want to replace something, that’s a tell. That’s your nervous system saying, “Keep this. This is the real thing.” The project. The conversation. The gym session. The weird hard work that makes you feel like a human with a pulse instead of an inbox with a mortgage.

When you do find a replacement, notice what shows up. Often it’s more honest than the original. You might kill “prep another slide deck” and replace it with “call the customer.” You might kill “attend the meeting” and replace it with “write the two paragraphs that matter.” You might kill “optimize the email” and replace it with “ship the offer.”

And if your replacement answer is, “I’d replace it with sitting on the couch and relaxing,” don’t beat yourself up.

Just take the hint. It’s not a replacement. That’s a diagnosis.

It means your schedule isn’t full. It’s crowded. It’s been stocked with obligations that don’t earn their keep, like cheap décor in a fancy hotel lobby. Pretty, busy, and maybe you snap a photo of it…but it’s ultimately forgettable.

Here’s the ask again: Run the guillotine test. Let your calendar confess.

Then rebuild it with the kind of things you’d actually miss if they disappeared.

Stay Positive & Future You Doesn’t Need More Time, It Needs Less Lies

There is a special kind of terror that only shows up when you are about to explain something to people who have already heard you explain it.

You can feel your brain reach for the old script like a GPS trying to reroute you back onto the same boring highway… Same opening joke. Same “here’s what malt does.” Same safe little loop that ends with everyone nodding politely while their souls quietly scroll elsewhere.

So try this mental exercise: act as if they have heard it all before. Not just the topic. Your version of the topic. Then ask one savage question.

What is the newest thing I can give them without abandoning the basics?

That question is a crowbar. It pries you out of autopilot and into craft.

For a beer tasting, it changes everything. You still cover your bases, but you stop treating “the bases” like a museum tour and start treating them like a launchpad. You compress the familiar. You trade the definition for the revelation. You do not say “this is an IPA” like you are reading a warning label. You say, “Close your eyes. Smell this and tell me what memory it tries to borrow.”

You shift from lecture to experience.

You let them drive for a minute. You ask better questions than you answer. You introduce one new angle you did not have last time: a different story, a different beer order, a different challenge, a different dare. You build a moment they could not have predicted, even if they brought notes.

When you treat the room like it has already heard you, you become less interested in proving you know things and more interested in creating a small, living transformation.

Repeat audiences are not a threat.

Stay Positive & Repeat Audiences Are Your Invitation To Evolve