Bigger. More. Better. Words that humans can become consumed with in nearly every aspect of our lives.  Made some improvements at work? Great. Now let’s make those improvements even more efficient.  Got a new barbecue for the backyard? Yep, it’s 35% bigger than the last one!  Those first four entries in a film franchise were perfect? Better make sure number five is even better.  As a species we seem to have become obsessed with the idea of scaling everything – and truthfully, sometimes that’s okay. Sometimes scale helps us reduce waste, protect the environment, feed more people, or host a few extra friends at a backyard barbecue.

But somewhere along the way, it feels as though we’ve adopted a mindset that, if something can’t scale then we inevitably wonders whether if it’s worth doing at all. Yet the older I get, and the more I appreciate just how limited our time really is, the more convinced I’ve become that the most important parts of life don’t scale whatsoever.  So what if, on this beautiful Sunday in June, we deliberately shifted our attention toward the things that can’t be multiplied, automated, replicated, optimized, outsourced, or accelerated?  What if, instead of asking how something could become bigger, more, or better, we spent a day appreciating the meaningful things that resist the very idea of scale altogether?

Every morning I wake up and one of the first things I do is open the NYT Wordle, followed by Connections, The Mini, and Strands. These little games, these small brain exercises, bring me a bit of joy before the chaos begins. They also represent a precious window in my day during which I am not accountable to anyone else. When I reached today’s Strands puzzle and saw the theme was Herpetology 101, I resisted every urge to complete it on my own.

My youngest daughter, for whatever reason, became obsessed with snakes a number of years ago. It’s the thing she asks for at every birthday, Christmas, or any other day that ends in “y.” She knows more about the subject than most adults I know and carries none of the fear that so many of us do.  The simple fact that today’s puzzle was connected to something she loves made me want to wait. To save it until later. To sit under a blanket with her on the couch while we worked through it together, listening to the birds outside the window.  It’s a small thing.  It doesn’t need to be any bigger than that. Perhaps it’s fitting that, while contemplating the value of things that can’t scale, I found myself waiting to solve a puzzle about creatures that quite literally do.

I’ll admit that it can be tough to think of things that don’t or can’t scale, but I think it there’s a common thread among all the things that could fall into the category, it’s that they are things that demand our attention.  Not the fractured attention we have become so accustomed to in an age of screens, but the kind that asks us to be fully present. My daughters telling my about their school day. My wife sharing how proud she is about her business.  A friend looking for some personal advice…a puzzle about snakes on a Sunday morning.  None of these moments can be multiplied, nor can be outsourced.  They only work if we’re there.

After a week away from home, where I spent most of my waking hours focused on improvements, a weekend of reprieve is exactly the prescription I needed. Yesterday we spent our day rock climbing, roller skating, and enjoying a slow-cooked meal on a patio. As exhausted as I may feel, these are exactly the kinds of activities that refill my cup.  I wasn’t concerned with climbing higher or faster than anyone else at the gym. I was content simply being there, alongside my daughter, tackling the personal challenges we’d set for ourselves.  And I wasn’t concerned with skating faster or smoother than anyone else in the rink. I was there to enjoy the music and the smiles on my family’s faces as we awkwardly shook our hips to the tunes.  The funny thing about these activities is that they leave very little room for divided attention. To climb, you have to focus. To skate, you have to be present.  More of that today, please.

However it is I spend today, my hope is that it can be slow.  Whether I’m picking up sticks from the yard, or my guitar from its cradle, my goal is to move one moment at a time.  To give attention to songs that nature is providing and appreciate the quiet breeze that pass through my windows.  I plan to play baseball with my friends and basketball with my daughter.  I look forward to my second cup of coffee and cooking salmon on the grill.  All of these things –  moments of their own not looking to outdo one another or anything else that came before it.  Today isn’t a day to tip the scale, it’s a day to balance it.