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I often refer to some people as “sleepers.”  By that, I don’t mean it negatively at all. In fact, I see it as a deep compliment. A sleeper is someone whose presence doesn’t shout, but whose character quietly speaks volumes.   Too often, when I meet someone for the first time, the conversation begins with a list of accomplishments, titles, or impressive stories. Sometimes it feels like a résumé spoken aloud. I don’t doubt their experiences, but I often wonder if the story has been polished, embellished, or perhaps borrowed from another.   But then others don’t lead with hero stories or achievements. They introduce themselves with humility, even meekness. Those are the people who intrigue me, the ones I want to know more about.   Ron is a man I knew from church for several years before discovering who he really was. To me, he had always been a kind, thoughtful, soft-spoken person. Many years ago, while we were on a flight to Baltimore, he casually mentioned that he had flown F-4 jets in Vietnam. He had completed countless sorties over North Vietnam and provided close air support for troops on the ground. Later, he became a test pilot for the F-15, a fighter-bomber that set new standards in aviation.   What struck me most wasn’t his military service, though that was extraordinary. It was the fact that he had carried these stories quietly for years, never offering them as the first thing I, or anyone else, would know about him. He was also a deeply Christian man, and his humility seemed to be the thread that held all the parts of his life together.   That encounter taught me something invaluable. True strength doesn’t need to announce itself.  Humility and meekness can be the most powerful introductions of all. The most memorable people I meet are not defined by what they have done, but by who they are.   I often wonder: when I meet someone, do I lead with my accomplishments or my humility?  That choice shapes not only how others see me, but also how I see myself.   Watch for the blind spots.   Discover the hidden behavior that could be holding you back from the relationships you desire. Get a copy of Blind Spots in Relationships. http://tinyurl.com/yc3usfsp

Not long ago, I sat with an amazing man who was wanting some tips for his marriage. As we talked, I asked him to write a letter. Writing can clear the ricocheting thoughts in my mind that keep me from focusing on what I need to do to better myself. However, this was an unusual letter. I asked him to write a letter from God to him. The following week, he brought me this letter, which he agreed I could share:   December 18, 2017   Dearest Son,   I want to compliment you on your gentle and calm spirit. You know those are the qualities I covet for all of my children.   Gentleness is that part of love that I longed to see even in your marriage. By the way, I love your darling wife, more than words can say or more than I can fully describe or your understanding on earth's side of heaven.   I chose your wife for you so that you would have someone to care for and to love. Be gentle with her. I made her different from you. Allow those differences to be my way of showing you how my creation is unique and what I do best.   Be gentle and of a calm spirit with her. "Gentleness is a willingness to accept limitations and ailments without taking out your aggravation on her or others. Gentleness shows gratitude for the smallest service rendered and for tolerance for those, including your wife, who you may think do not always do it right. Being kind to your wife is the crowning mark of a good and gentle person."   You know my son Jesus when he walked the dusty roads of Palestine, was described as "gentle and humble of heart ” (Matt. 11:29). Humility is a word I wrote about in my last letter to you. Do you remember the words "the lower you bend, the closer you are to me."   My inspired word says, "Humble yourself under my mighty hand and I will lift you up in due time. Cast all your cares on me, for I care for you."  (1Peter 5:6). All of heaven's resources are available for you to love your wife with a kind, gentle, and humble spirit. Stay calm in the times of conflict and trust me to always be there in the midst of the storm.    I love you Son.   Your Heavenly Father.   Sometimes I need to relax and write my thoughts to see what "I CAN"  do. This letter is a great example.   Watch for the blind spots.   Get a copy of Blind Spots in Relationships. Discover the hidden behavior that could be holding you back from the relationships you desire. http://tinyurl.com/yc3usfsp

A while back, I was in the grocery store, standing in line with just a few items. The customer ahead of me was chatting away with the checker, laughing, telling stories, and digging through their wallet, while I stood there stewing. My mind raced: Don’t they realize people are waiting? How inconsiderate!   Later that day, it hit me. I’ve done the same thing. I’ve lingered in conversation, enjoyed catching up, and probably delayed someone else who was in a hurry. The truth I didn’t want to face in myself, I was quick to judge in someone else. Passing judgment, I realized, is often the hidden clue that I might be projecting. I see in others what I can’t, or don’t want to, see in myself.   That’s projection. Freud described it as a defense mechanism: when I don’t want to acknowledge a feeling or flaw in myself, I unconsciously assign it to others. Carl Jung went further, teaching that we project parts of our “shadow,” those unrecognized pieces of ourselves, onto the world. What I can’t accept in me, I’ll likely see and dislike in you.   Projection is a major blind spot in relationships. Because it feels so real, I convince myself the problem is “out there.”  Yet much of what irritates me in others is often something I don’t want to see in myself.   Here’s the challenge: when I catch myself projecting, I can stay blind and blame, or I can pause and ask, what part of me am I seeing in them?  That single question can turn a blind spot into a gold mine of self-awareness.   Projection is the mirror I least want to look into. But when I do, I build a better me. I become less controlled by hidden judgments and more able to connect with others and myself honestly.   Watch for the blind spots.   Think you’ve got it all figured out? 🤔 Your blind spots might have other plans. Dive into Blind Spots in Relationships  and find out what you don’t know you don’t know. 💡 Get your copy today. 📚 http:// tinyurl.com/yc3usfsp

Every day I live is a day spent. I don’t get it back. Today was traded for something, maybe for progress, maybe for distraction, maybe for nothing at all. That thought makes me pause. I have a limited number of days, and how I spend them matters more than I often admit.   Too often, I find myself wasting time on unimportant things and scrolling through social media, drifting into conversations that don’t build me up, or getting lost in idle tasks. It’s easy to justify, I tell myself I’m relaxing or catching up, but the truth is, much of that time is simply blown into the wind. It’s gone, with nothing to show for it.   Then I wonder: what could I do with the idle time I let slip away? Could I use it to write, to think, to create something meaningful? Could I invest it in my health, in my relationships, or in learning something that shapes my future? Those questions sting a little because they remind me of the gap between the life I dream about and the life I sometimes choose in the moment.   Am I facing my dreams, or am I hiding from them by filling my time with noise?  That is the heart of the matter. It’s easier to scroll than to stretch. It is easier to fill my hours with distraction than to risk failure by moving toward something bigger. Yet every moment I waste is still a trade. I’m trading the one resource I can never earn back: my time.   Who could I be if I used my time more productively?  That question is both convicting and energizing. It reminds me that each day, I hold the pen that writes my story. I can drift, or I can direct. I can hide, or I can face the life I say I want.   Do I know where I’m going in my life?  Some days, yes; some days, not so clearly. But if I honor my time, treat it as the treasure it is, I move closer to becoming the person I was meant to be.   Watch for the blind spots.   "Think you’ve got it all figured out? 🤔 Your blind spots might have other plans. Dive into Blind Spots in Relationships  and find out what you don’t know you don’t know. 💡 Get your copy today. 📚 http:// tinyurl.com/yc3usfsp

In the martial art of Aikido, the goal isn’t to defeat an opponent but to redirect energy. Instead of meeting force with force, the practitioner blends with the movement, using timing, awareness, and balance to create harmony rather than conflict. That image has stayed with me because communication often feels like combat. Words can collide like fists, and conversations can turn into sparring matches where each person is determined to win.   I’ve noticed in myself that when I feel misunderstood or challenged, my instinct is to push back. I want to prove my point, correct the other person, or take control of the conversation. The harder I push, the more resistance I meet. Just like in physical conflict, communication can escalate until no one is listening, only defending.   Aikido offers a different way. Instead of pushing back, I can step aside, join with the other’s energy, and guide the interaction in a healthier direction. In practice, that might mean listening deeply instead of interrupting. It could mean asking a curious question rather than launching a sharp rebuttal. It could mean acknowledging the emotion behind the words, even when I disagree with the content.   This doesn’t mean I become passive or surrender my voice. In Aikido, the practitioner is active and intentional, but never destructive. The aim is not to dominate but to restore balance. Communication can be the same. When I stay grounded, aware of my emotions, steady in my posture, I don’t get pulled into a cycle of attack and defend. I can respond rather than react.   The beauty of Aikido communication is that it turns potential battles into opportunities for connection. Conflict becomes a chance to understand energy, my own and the other persons, and to redirect it toward clarity and respect.   I’ve found that the conversations I remember most are not the ones I “won,” but the ones where I listened, adapted, and created a bridge. Aikido reminds me that true strength is not in overpowering another, but in cultivating harmony. Communication, at its best, is less about victory and more about joining, guiding, and growing together.   Watch for the blind spots. "Think you’ve got it all figured out? 🤔 Your blind spots might have other plans. Dive into Blind Spots in Relationships  and find out what you don’t know you don’t know. 💡 Get your copy today. 📚 http:// tinyurl.com/yc3usfsp

I catch myself more often than I’d like to admit, wanting other people to think, act, and decide the way I do. When they don’t, my first reaction is usually frustration. Just the other day, I was sitting at a long traffic light. I had already waited through three cycles, and I was certain this time I’d finally get through. The light turned green, and just as I was ready to move, the car in front of me stopped to let two cars out of a driveway. Really?  Now I was stuck for another full light. My mind jumped straight to judgment: How rude, how inconsiderate! Don’t they know I’m in a hurry? Another time, I was in the grocery store, standing in line with only three items. The person ahead of me was having a full-blown conversation with the checker, laughing, catching up, enjoying the moment. Meanwhile, I stood there stewing. When it was finally time to pay, the customer debated cash or card, rummaged through their wallet, and kept right on chatting. Inside, I was fuming: Do they have no awareness? Don’t they realize I have places to be? Moments like these are endless. And each one exposes the same blind spot: I expect others to see the world through my lens. I want them to move, act, and decide with my priorities in mind. But the truth is, they don’t. They think differently, value different things, and make choices I wouldn’t make. My frustration doesn’t change them; it only robs me of peace. The real challenge isn’t controlling others, it’s practicing self-control. When I stop insisting that others live by my script, I feel less negative, less chaotic, and less out of control. That’s the blind spot I keep working on realizing that others don’t think like me and learning to let that be okay.   Think you see the whole picture? Think again. My book Blind Spots in Relationships will reveal what’s been hiding in plain sight. Grab your copy today & uncover the truth! http://tinyurl.com/yc3usfsp

Here is a very familiar story.   Sam and Rachel have been friends for years. Lately, though, things have felt strained. Minor annoyances have stacked up, Sam forgot to return a borrowed book, Rachel canceled lunch twice, and neither addressed the little irritations. Both tucked their frustrations away like stones in a backpack, thinking, ‘I don’t want to cause trouble, so I’ll just let it go.’  But instead of letting it go, they carried it. This was a familiar practice for both.   One evening, Rachel made an offhand remark: “Sam, you’re always late.”   That was the spark. Sam exploded. “Always late? I do more for this friendship than you realize! You never thank me. You bail on plans. And now you’re calling me unreliable? I’m done with this!”   The outburst shocked Rachel. What was meant as a small comment about timing was met with a truckload of anger that didn’t match the offense.   What happened? Sam’s emotional backpack was full. Weeks of unspoken annoyance had been quietly collecting, and Rachel’s small remark tipped it over.   When unfinished business piles up, my emotional reservoir has no room left. A tiny spark feels like an explosion. That’s why road rage, angry outbursts, or icy silence can look so disproportionate; they’re not about the present moment, but about everything carried into it.   The antidote? Self-control in real time. It means noticing when something bothers me and calmly addressing it before it grows into a burden. Saying, “When lunch was cancelled, I felt disappointed,” keeps the backpack light. It doesn’t mean picking a fight; it means releasing the stone before it adds weight.   Self-control is not bottling up feelings; it’s choosing how and when to express them, so they don’t turn into an avalanche. When I let go of offenses as they occur, I free myself and give others a chance to respond without defensiveness.   A backpack emptied daily is light to carry. But if I keep stuffing stones inside, one careless word can break the straps, and every buried stone tumbles down like an avalanche.   Watch for the blind spots.   Think you see the whole picture? Think again. My book Blind Spots in Relationships will reveal what’s been hiding in plain sight. Grab your copy today & uncover the truth! http://tinyurl.com/yc3usfsp

Some time back, I wrote about motivation. Lately, I’ve been thinking about it differently. A woman in an engineering field recently told me, “I don’t feel motivated to continue this work, or to change jobs. I feel stuck. I don’t feel motivated to do anything.”   Her words struck me.   It is easy to sit around waiting for motivation, like it’s a spark that will suddenly ignite my next big move. But what if that spark never comes?  Waiting for motivation to take flight can feel like waiting for lightning to strike, rare, unpredictable, and beyond my control.   Instead of waiting, what if I flipped the equation? What if, instead of chasing motivation, I pursued small wins that would create it?   Think about it. When I accomplish even a small task, finishing a chapter, making a phone call I’ve been putting off, or trying one new skill, the sense of progress can be energizing. That little surge of satisfaction often stirs more drive than hours of waiting for motivation to appear magically.   I’ve asked myself: What do I enjoy that could also provide the kind of living I want? If I take steps toward that, however small, I’m not just hoping for motivation, I’m building  it.   This is the inversion: rather than motivation leading to success, I let success lead to motivation. Each step becomes proof that I can move forward, and each proof becomes fuel for the next step.   “Climbing in the dark is daunting. If I wait for the lights to turn on before moving, I’ll never start. But if I take one step, feel it hold me, that small success gives me the courage to take another.”   So, maybe the question isn’t, “How do I get motivated?” but rather, “What small success can I create today?”   Because sometimes, motivation doesn’t start the journey; success does.   Watch for the blind spots.   Think you see the whole picture? Think again. My book Blind Spots in Relationships will reveal what’s been hiding in plain sight. Grab your copy today & uncover the truth!  http://tinyurl.com/yc3usfsp

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