From Thoughts Become Things… choose the good ones! ® November 6, 2025, ©www.tut.com

Mike wrote,

“First, as a child, it seems like the entire world is there for you and you rush to drink from its every cup, sometimes wondering to yourself how anything could ever be more fun.

Then, as you grow older, if you’re observant, you realize much of what you enjoy was made possible by the contributions, work, and labor of those who came before you, and you’re taken aback, disappointed even, because with maturity you can now see cracks in the façades, imperfections in the details, and 10,000 ways it could have all been done better.

At which point, folks typically choose one of two paths: Spend a lifetime lamenting how far from perfect things are. Or, to one degree or another, roll up their sleeves and pitch in.

And should they choose the latter with gusto, they will come to know, to the core of their sacred being, that the differences they might make in the world cannot be made by another. And then they will discover the answer to their often-wondered childhood question… that the most fun one can have in time and space comes from making such a difference, and that the joy derived from serving is 10,000 times that of being served.”

Those words invite reflection. The world we walk through today was crafted by countless hands before ours. Now our hands are part of the shaping.

In childhood, wonder feels effortless. Every morning brings a new adventure. Then awareness widens. We begin to notice worn places in the world: strained systems, tired souls, quiet loneliness, fragile hopes. The sparkle fades not because magic departed, but rather because the world is waiting for our contribution.

We are not asked to repair everything, or carry every burden, or become flawless. The call is simpler: Offer the gifts that only we can give.

What if the frustration we feel is pointing toward the place where love is needed?

What if the longing in our chest is a doorway to service?

What if the invitation has been quietly calling our name all along?

The two paths Mike describes remain real. One path crosses its arms and says, “Someone should do something.”

The other path takes a breath and says, “I’ll begin here.”

Recently, I sat beside a friend who was going through a heavy stretch. There were no brilliant words to offer and no grand solutions to provide. We simply shared the same room, sipping tea, breathing through the quiet together. Ava rested at our feet, tail tapping the floor in a slow, steady rhythm. Her calm presence softened the edges of the moment. I realized then that sometimes beginning looks exactly like this — choosing to be with someone rather than away from them.

Beginning rarely looks dramatic. A phone call. A listening ear. A gentle gesture. A moment of patience where impatience once lived. When the first small offering is made, the heart shifts. The air in the room softens. Joy rises.

Not the joy of praise. Not the joy of being admired. The joy of knowing that a corner of the world rests easier because of our presence.

That rising feels familiar—like childhood wonder returning to the room, bright and steady.

Not because the world is flawless.

Not because every problem is solved.

Rather, because we remembered who we are:

A presence capable of love.

A soul designed to contribute.

A heart wired for connection and meaning.

When we choose to show up, the world leans toward kindness and renewal.

When you remember this, you change the way you see

and change the way you live.