The Future is in Your Mouth

Weekly wisdom to level up your creative life in 3 minutes, for free.

A SHORT STORY

With my tech job at Mighty Networks, I work as a consultant with organizations, thought leaders, and entrepreneurs, helping them strategize and build community as part of their value proposition.

As a result, I encounter a wide range of people on a daily basis—from Deepak Chopra to TED to Evangelical Christians.

In a recent conversation with one of my clients, who runs an ashram in California, we were talking about the power of the ordinary moment—how a simple act of kindness can redirect the course of someone’s day.

It reminded me of a quote I return to often from Ocean Vuong:

Think about that for a moment.

What happens if you alter your language?
Where would your future be?
Where might you grow toward?

The invitation here is pretty simple.

First, to pay attention—to the words you use, and the tone of your interactions.

And then, to take ownership of that.

Just think of the possibilities.

What if every conversation was a quiet act of creation?

It makes me think: maybe the future you long for isn’t out there, waiting.

Maybe it’s waiting for you to speak it into being.

A POEM

“Small Kindnesses” by Danusha Lameris

I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead—you first,” “I like your hat.”

Grateful,

Michael