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Early in my career, I was in a meeting where a technical term kept coming up. Everyone nodded as if they understood. I didn’t.   Usually, I would keep quiet, scribbling notes and planning to Google it later. But that day, I raised my hand and said, “I’m not familiar with that term. Could someone explain it?”   The room went silent. My face burned. I braced for laughter or dismissal.   Instead, our General Manager smiled. “Good question,”  he said. “Let’s break it down so we’re all on the same page.”  Several heads nodded. Later, two colleagues admitted they hadn’t known either; they didn’t want to speak up.   That moment shifted something in me. I didn’t lose respect by admitting I didn’t know; I gained it. I gained trust in myself because I chose courage over fear.   That’s the power of vulnerability. When I allow myself to be seen, flaws, fears, and all, I stop living behind a mask. Honesty aligns my inner and outer worlds, and that alignment builds self-trust. I no longer fear “being found out,” because I am already showing up as the real me.   Vulnerability invites the risk of rejection or failure, but surviving those moments proves I can handle them. Each time I speak up, admit a mistake, or ask for help, I learn that discomfort is survivable. These experiences become reference points, making me braver and more confident over time.   Being open also fosters genuine connection. People often respond with empathy and respect, valuing me not for perfection but for my humanity. That kind of acceptance is a deep well of self-assurance.   Confidence isn’t built from competence alone. Vulnerability teaches that absolute confidence also comes from self-acceptance. When I no longer have to be flawless to feel worthy, I carry a steadier, more grounded confidence, one that isn’t easily shaken by mistakes or criticism.   In short: Vulnerability doesn’t weaken confidence, it deepens it. Courage isn’t the absence of fear; it’s the willingness to act despite it. And that willingness is the foundation of lasting self-confidence.   Watch for the blind spots.     🔥 Think you see the whole picture?   Think again. 💡 Blind Spots in Relationships  will reveal what’s been hiding in plain sight. 📖 Grab your copy today & uncover the truth!   http://tinyurl.com/yc3usfsp

Years ago, I sat with a friend whom I deeply cared for. We were talking about a sensitive topic; one we’d discussed many times before. Somewhere in the conversation, I stopped listening and started convincing.   I remember leaning in, stacking my evidence, and countering every point he made. My goal wasn’t to understand, it was to win.   The more I pushed, the more he withdrew. His eyes shifted away, his shoulders turned slightly, and his answers became shorter. When I pressed harder, he became quieter. The conversation ended with an awkward silence that carried a heaviness neither of us wanted.   That’s the danger of trying to convince. The moment communication shifts from sharing to convincing, something vital breaks. What was once an exchange is becoming a tug-of-war.   Convincing is where arguments are born, and impasses begin. I can go out of control to gain control. And while the most dominant may “win” in that moment, both sides lose. The one who feels shut down begins to store resentment. Over time, resentment erodes trust, and trust is the foundation of connection.   Convincing polarizes. It forces both people to defend their corner rather than step toward common ground. It breeds frustration, making the relationship feel like a battlefield instead of a safe place.   Allowing others to have an opinion, without trying to reshape it, opens the door to connection. It doesn’t mean I agree with them. It means I value the relationship enough to recognize their right to their view.   Sometimes, the healthiest thing I can say is:   “I see it differently, but I appreciate hearing how you see it.”   That statement doesn’t give up my position. It gives up my need to control.   When I release the need to convince, I make room for respect. And respect is what keeps communication alive when agreement isn’t possible.   In the end, I’d rather keep a friend than win a fight.   The moment I shift from understanding to convincing, I trade connection for control, and even if I win the argument, I lose the relationship. When I release the need to convince, I make room for respect. And respect is what keeps communication alive when agreement isn’t possible.   In the end, I’d rather keep a friend than win a fight.   The moment I shift from understanding to convincing, I trade connection for control, and even if I win the argument, I lose the relationship.   Watch for the blind spots.   👀 Don’t wait to uncover what you don’t know you don’t know! 💡 Blind Spots in Relationships,  get your copy today,  http://tinyurl.com/yc3usfsp

The why question is powerful, but it can also be problematic. I’ve learned that sometimes when I ask why in relationships , what I need is to make a statement instead.   To the person hearing, why  can feel caustic or accusatory, almost like saying, “Prove it, and I bet you can’t.” That can trigger defensiveness and turn the conversation into an argument.   For example, these questions often land poorly:   Why are you so loud?   Why are you late? Why are you talking to me in that tone of voice? Instead, I can turn them into statements that express my own feelings or needs: Please don’t be loud. I was worried about you and wanted to hear your voice. I’m feeling afraid. Self-statements change the message. They let the other person hear my concern rather than my criticism. They create connections instead of distance. When I’m anxious, I’m more likely to use why . Anxiety can push my emotions ahead of my intellect, leading me to say or do things I later regret. There are also why  questions that have no satisfying answer: Why does God allow bad things to happen to good people? Why are they driving so slowly, or so crazy? Why does it rain all the time? When there’s no answer, it  just fuels frustration. That’s where I’ve learned how to replace why  with what  and how . I can’t change the circumstances or situation, so I ask what and how questions. What  can I do now, given the situation? How  do I need to respond? What do I need to do now to stay in control of myself? How can I create something good about this frustrating situation? If someone is driving erratically, the why  question won’t help. But I can decide what to do: slow down, change lanes, or give them space. I can ask how  to stay safe. Even if I discover why, I still must choose what  and how  to respond. That’s where progress lives. Watch for the blind spots.   👀 Don’t wait to uncover what you don’t know you don’t know! 💡 Blind Spots in Relationships,  get your copy today,  http://tinyurl.com/yc3usfsp

Picture this. It was the central plains of the United States. A heavy storm was threatening. Lightning cracked like a whip; thunder rolled across the sky. Sheets of rain streaked the horizon. The violent storm was gathering speed, charging across the open land. Below it, two herds, one of cattle, the other of wild horses, grew restless, their instincts kicking in as the wind picked up and the lightning flashed.   Suddenly, the ground shook as both herds bolted in panic, galloping away from the danger.   But the storm was faster. As they ran, the wind and rain overtook them. Though they tried to escape it, their retreat only prolonged their suffering. The farther they ran, the longer they stayed in the storm. That image stays with me because I’ve done the same.   When I see a challenge I don’t want to face, an uncomfortable conversation, a project I’ve been avoiding, a decision I keep postponing. I instinctively want to run from it. I distract myself. I delay. I pretend it’s not there. But like those animals, I find that avoidance only extends the discomfort. The anxiety lingers. The stress grows heavier. And the storm drags on.   But there’s another way.   Buffalo respond differently. When a storm approaches, they don’t run away. They turn and run directly into it.   It’s not because they like storms. It’s because they know the fastest way out of the storm… is through it. By moving toward the wind, the cold, the chaos, they pass through to calm on the other side more quickly.   That’s the lesson I’m learning.   Avoiding discomfort only intensifies it. But when I face it head-on, with courage and intention, I often find clarity, growth, and relief waiting on the other side.   So, the next time the sky darkens, and the storm of life comes my way, I remember the buffalo. I turn toward the storm. I don’t prolong the agony. I face it—and find freedom on the other side.     Watch for the blind spots.   👀 Don’t wait to uncover what you don’t know you don’t know! 💡 Blind Spots in Relationships,  get your copy today,  http://tinyurl.com/yc3usfsp

The other day, I was driving home when a woman suddenly pulled out in front of me. I had to slam on the brakes to avoid a crash. My heart raced, and yes, I lay on the horn. I went out of control to gain control. I was reacting out of my emotions without any logic or intellect. It didn’t help my situation at all.   Another time, frustrated by a congested intersection, I started using a shortcut on a private road to get to my office. It worked, until one morning I saw a police officer ahead with three cars already pulled over. I was already running late. Now I imagined my insurance going up, my clean driving record ruined. I had every excuse; no signs warned that it was a private road.   After slowly working through the other drivers, the officer finally got to me. Nothing I said made a difference. “Tell it to the judge,” he said with a smile.   I was fuming, caught in the heat of injustice and frustration. But later, after I calmed down and handled what needed to be done at work, I realized: I couldn’t change what happened. I could choose to feel bad the next few days because of what I felt was done to me. But I can’t undo what has already been done.   So what... now what?   It turned out I didn’t receive a fine, just a short driving probation. But at that moment, my anxious brain had clouded my ability to think clearly.   Life throws moments like that at me often, things that block my path, disrupt my plan, or provoke an emotional reaction.   That question, “So what… now what?”  helps me reset. It shifts me from holding on to what I can’t change, from emotion to clarity. It doesn’t erase the pain, but it helps me take the next step.   Big or small, setbacks will come. But when I slow down and ask the right question, my emotions settle, and my intellect takes over.   Watch for the blind spots.   👀 Don’t wait to uncover what you don’t know you don’t know! 💡 Blind Spots in Relationships,  get your copy today,  http://tinyurl.com/yc3usfsp

Embarrassingly, I tell you this story. Years ago, I was in a leadership role at work. I was sharp, confident, and eager to make things happen. I spoke up often, offered solutions quickly, and made decisions without much hesitation. I believed I was doing well, carrying myself with clarity and conviction. But over time, I started to notice something. In meetings, people would nod politely. They rarely pushed back or offered a different view. I assumed they agreed with me. The truth?  They didn’t feel safe disagreeing. And I wasn’t inviting feedback; I was moving so fast that I never paused long enough to truly listen. It wasn’t until a newer colleague quietly asked in a meeting, “Has anyone actually looked at the data on this?,”  then things shifted. There was a pause. Then others began to speak up, respectfully, but honestly. It became clear that some of the things I had championed weren’t working. And people had known for a while. I felt exposed, not attacked, but unmasked. I had been so focused on appearing capable that I hadn’t seen how alone I’d become in my decisions. I mistook silence for support. I believed I was leading, but I wasn’t connecting. That experience reminded me of the fable “ The Emperor’s New Clothes .” Not because I was arrogant, but because I didn’t know what I didn’t know. I’d created an image of strength, and others didn’t want to be the one to break the illusion. But when someone finally did, it became one of the most critical moments in my growth. Since then, I’ve learned to ask better questions. I listen more deeply. I check my assumptions. And I welcome honest feedback, not as a threat, but as a gift for personal growth. This is so true for me today because leadership has more to do with emotional connection than knowledge. Another way to look at today’s leadership isn’t about walking forward in pride. It is about having the humility to stop, listen, and walk forward together, this time with eyes wide open. Watch for the blind spots.   👀 Don’t wait to uncover what you don’t know you don’t know! 💡 Blind Spots in Relationships,  get your copy today,  http://tinyurl.com/yc3usfsp

I often find myself in a snit over things I can’t control. Life can feel unfair, especially when I compare myself to others, usually those who seem to have more, do better, or face fewer obstacles. That comparison never leads anywhere good. It only stirs up frustration and self-pity.   Life doesn’t ask if I’m ready, it just shows up. Some days it arrives in the form of traffic that makes me late. Other days, it’s bad weather that ruins my plans, or a rude comment from a coworker that lingers in my mind longer than it should. It might be a missed opportunity, an unexpected bill, or a tense conversation with someone I care about. I’m constantly bombarded by circumstances I didn’t choose.   But here’s what I’m learning: the better me I build, the better I can handle what I didn’t expect. When I’m tired, stressed, or anxious, even a minor inconvenience can feel like the final straw. But when I’m grounded, when I know who I am and what I value, I can respond instead of react.   A better me doesn’t blame others, doesn’t make excuses, or fall into victimhood. A better me accepts that life happens and that I’m still responsible for how I show up. I’m not immune to difficult people or frustrating days, but I can grow emotional muscles the same way I build physical strength, with consistency, awareness, and deliberate practice.   Traffic, weather, disappointments, delays, unmet expectations, and even my moods and insecurities, these are the weights I lift every day. I can let them wear me down, or I can let them train me. None of these circumstances has the final say unless I give it to them.   I like the idea of redesigning my mood on the fly. After all, I choose how I act and how I react. So, I ask myself: what version of me do I want handling these moments? What habits, beliefs, and mindset do I need to keep strengthening? I can’t control the storm, but I can build a better me who knows how to walk through it.   Watch for the blind spots.   👀 Don’t wait to uncover what you don’t know you don’t know! 💡 Blind Spots in Relationships,  get your copy today,  http://tinyurl.com/yc3usfsp

Not every laugh is shared. Not every cut leaves a visible scar.   Jordan showed up to work tired and unusually quiet. Typically, upbeat and productive, today felt different. He decided to take things slow and catch up on smaller tasks, hoping a calmer pace would help him reset.   Later that morning, his coworker Dana walked by his desk, glanced around, and said with a smirk, “Wow, looks like someone’s been working hard today.”   Jordan didn’t reply. He had hoped Dana might ask how he was doing, or at least not assume he was lazy. But Dana kept going, chuckling, “What’s wrong? Can’t you take a joke?”   What Dana didn’t know was that Jordan had barely slept, was feeling overwhelmed, and was doing his best to hold things together. But instead of curiosity or empathy, she defaulted to sarcasm, a tool I once used frequently myself. I thought I was being funny, but sarcasm can cut like a knife. When someone took offense, I’d hide behind the excuse, “It was just a joke.”   Sarcasm is verbal irony, saying the opposite of what you mean, often in a mocking tone. While it might be intended as humor, the meaning often gets lost. A comment meant as playful banter can land as harsh criticism, leaving the other person feeling misunderstood or undervalued. Over time, repeated sarcasm creates emotional distance, whether in friendships, at work, or home.   Workplace culture often tolerates sarcasm, even rewards it as clever banter. But if only one person laughs, it’s not humor, it’s a dig. Jordan and Dana spent the rest of the day avoiding each other. What could’ve been a moment for connection became a missed opportunity.   A better approach?  Ask questions. Be curious. Express frustration or expectations directly. Genuine humor brings people closer, while sarcasm often builds walls.   I’ve learned that for any relationship, personal or professional, to thrive, sincere communication and genuine humor must replace sarcastic jabs.   Watch for the blind spots.   👀 Don’t wait to uncover what you don’t know you don’t know! 💡 Blind Spots in Relationships,  get your copy today,  http://tinyurl.com/yc3usfsp

Not all stories are told with words. Some of the most powerful ones never are.   Our sermon today focused on stories expressed through art, and how art shows up in many forms.   I recently sat behind my favorite family in church: Mom, Dad, and three kids. The youngest was restless. The middle one kept whispering. The parents didn’t raise their voices or give harsh looks. The father gently placed his hand on his son’s back. The mother leaned in and whispered. They exchanged glances, not with frustration, but with quiet agreement.   Then the dad softly placed his arm around the mom, and they leaned into each other. It was clear: love lived here. Patience lived here. Respect lived here. No one spoke, but they showed a powerful story.   That family modeled something beautiful, a story without a single word.   I experience stories all the time. I can walk into a room and feel if someone is angry with me before a single syllable is spoken. I can sense when someone is distracted, irritated, or hurting. And I can feel love in the smallest gestures: a hand lingering on a shoulder, a shared glance, a quiet sacrifice made without acknowledgment.   We show “I love you” by packing a lunch, remembering a detail, or waiting patiently when we’d rather rush. We show “I’m angry” with silence, a slammed cabinet, or a furrowed brow. We show “You matter” when we put down our phones and lean in to listen. We show “You are upsetting me” when we withhold, avoid, or shut down. We show “I want more connection” or “less pressure” by how close or distant we become.   We show others how we want to live, not just by what we say, but by what we tolerate, what we prioritize, and how we treat people when no one’s watching.   Every day, I’m telling a story through my tone, my timing, my attention, and my choices.   The question is: Is it the story I want others to remember?   Watch for the blind spots.   👀 Don’t wait to uncover what you don’t know you don’t know! 💡 Blind Spots in Relationships,  get your copy today,  http://tinyurl.com/yc3usfsp

I used to walk past our general manager’s corner office every morning and feel a mix of excitement, desire, and envy, perhaps all at once. The leather chairs, glass walls, and nameplate in bold font all whispered success. This was the next step in my hierarchy. I told myself I wanted it because I had earned it. That if I landed that office, I’d finally feel like I mattered, I had arrived.   One night, I sat alone in my very nice corner office, sipping cold coffee, and asked myself: “Why do I want it so badly?”   The answer came quieter than I expected: It’s not the office. It’s what I believe it says about me that  I’m important. That I’ve outgrown the version of myself who felt invisible around the dinner table. That I’ve made it.   That was the moment I realized what I was chasing wasn’t the office. It was my self-worth. Validation. A sense of being seen. I didn’t need his corner office. I needed to believe I had value.   Coveting is sneaky. It hides behind ambition, admiration, even hope. But what it often reveals is what I lack: respect, acceptance, safety, belonging.   And it doesn’t stop there.   Coveting breeds discontent. It warps my relationships. I start comparing, resenting, and silently competing with others. It tempts me to act outside my values to get what I think will fix me. Worst of all, it’s a trap. Because even if I do get what I long for, the peace is short-lived. The ache returns. The target moves.   I’ve learned to ask better questions.   What am I honestly longing for?   What story am I telling myself about why I don’t have it?   What deeper need is underneath this desire?   The antidote to coveting is curiosity. It’s honesty. Sometimes, it’s grief. And often, it’s gratitude for what is already good in my life, waiting to be seen.   I’m still very ambitious. But I’ve stopped chasing symbols. Now, I chase what’s meaningful.   What pulls me toward wholeness, not just success? What would I regret not doing, even if no one else saw it? Watch for the blind spots.   👀 Don’t wait to uncover what you don’t know you don’t know! 💡 Blind Spots in Relationships,  get your copy today,  http://tinyurl.com/yc3usfsp

I've noticed that when something isn't working in a relationship, my instinct is to repeat the same behavior, maybe louder and with more emphasis, hoping for a better result. But doing the same thing over and over creates a predictable pattern. I speak; they react. They speak; I shut down. Round and round we go in the same emotional orbit.   This orbit becomes familiar, even when it's frustrating. And over time, it drains connection and deepens resentment.   I've learned that when I become aware that the pattern isn't working, I've a choice. I can try something different. I call this changing my orbit .   That might mean I stay calm instead of escalating the situation. Or I speak up kindly instead of withdrawing. It might mean I stop trying to win and start listening. This new approach can feel unnatural at first, both to me and the other person. And sometimes, they'll resist it. They may try to pull the relationship back into the old orbit because it feels safer.   However, if I want a new outcome, I must stay the course.   Real change only comes with consistency. When I hold to the new path — calm, curious, and clear — I start to notice something: the tension begins to drop. Defensiveness softens. Honest connection becomes possible.   Sometimes, a slight shift, such as writing instead of arguing face-to-face, can reduce anxiety and allow logic to return. (I often ask couples to keep a notebook handy to write their point of view for the other to read, which slows the communications down and reduces anxiety.)  At other times, it's simply refusing to be baited into the same old argument.   The truth is, changing orbits takes courage. But sustained change is what creates healthier relationships, built on safety, respect, and growth.   No, it's not easy. But it is worth it.   I'm learning to recognize what isn't working and to act intentionally, rather than habitually. When I do, I give myself and others the chance to create something better, one new orbit at a time.   Watch for the blind spots.   👀 Don’t wait to uncover what you don’t know you don’t know! 💡 Blind Spots in Relationships,  get your copy today,  http://tinyurl.com/yc3usfsp

I was recently discussing legacy with a friend, considering what I’ll leave behind, how I’ll be remembered, and the impact I’m making on others. He said something that stopped me in my tracks: “You’re writing your legacy every day, in everything you say and do, whether you realize it or not.” That truth hit home. I used to think of legacy as something reserved for the famous, business moguls, artists, educators, political leaders, and world-changers. But I’ve come to see that legacy isn’t limited to the extraordinary. Ordinary people leave a remarkable impact, sometimes through a word, a gesture, a simple presence that’s felt and remembered. Here’s the truth I can’t ignore. I’m writing the script others will use to describe me, not with grand accomplishments, but in the quiet consistency of how I show up, how I treat others, and how I respond to life. And sometimes, the lines I write aren’t so flattering. When someone offers me feedback, especially the kind that feels negative, it’s tempting to shut down, explain myself, or dismiss it. But every time I do that, I lose an opportunity to grow. I remain unaware of how others perceive me. That’s why I wrote the book Blind Spots in Relationships.  Because I know how easy it is to see myself only through my lens, my intentions, my logic, my perspective. But legacy doesn’t live in what I meant to do. It lives in what others felt when they were around me. So, I ask myself regularly: How am I coming across? Where am I blind to the impact I’m having? What feedback am I resisting that might help me grow? Legacy isn’t someday. It’s right now. I’m writing it with every decision, every conversation, every day. I want to build a better me, one page at a time. I remind myself often that I am writing the script, others use to talk about me. Watch for the blind spots. 👀 Don’t wait to uncover what you don’t know you don’t know! 💡 Blind Spots in Relationships,  get your copy today,  http://tinyurl.com/yc3usfsp