Empty, hollow, no content.

Someone else’s expectations are not your commitment.

The past couple of weeks have been all about travel. I was in St. Pete’s Beach, Florida, all last week, enjoying some time with one of my favorite groups of authors (and shout-out to Tawdra Kandle and Mel Jolly, who were the powerhouses that made that conference happen). It was a great event, as always. And, as always, I came away weirdly recharged and exhausted at the same time.

This week I’m in Park City, Utah, for a family wedding. Kara and I opted to stay in a hotel, but the rest of the family was smarter than us and went in on what may be the most beautiful AirBnB I have ever seen. If they make a movie about this weekend, they couldn’t pick a better set.

Here’s the thing with travel—it can be this wonderfully inspiring activity. Kara and I know this, after spending years traveling the US in various RVs and vans, or hopping from hotels to AirBnBs all over the world. Both of us have travel in our DNA, it seems. We’re very nomadic.

But even with a great love of it, the whole thing can really wear you down. Living out of a suitcase gets old, eventually. It’s all worth it, of course. Obviously. If it wasn’t, we wouldn’t be here.

One challenge with so much travel is that there’s still “the work.” And for me, it’s a lot of work.

My father-in-law was sort of bragging on me last night, but as he talked I realized that I do a lot more than I really ever clicked to. “I don’t know how he does all of it,” he said. “He writes every day, puts out books all the time, does these podcasts and YouTube videos, travels, speaks at conferences... I just don’t know how he does all of it.”

I admit, I kind of liked hearing that breakdown. It really is a lot of work, and it’s kind of cool to hear someone appreciate it for what it is. But I’ve always done it without really thinking about it. It’s just a series of responsibilities to me, I think. “I said I would do X, Y, and Z, so I will. Also A, B, and C.” And there’s plenty of alphabet left.

But last week, while I was in Florida, I found myself short on energy, and not really wanting to do one of the things I’ve personally committed to. I knew I needed to write a post for Substack, but all I wanted was to leave my room and go find coffee and eggs (I never did get the eggs). I also felt the pull to go start talking to authors, to start helping them with whatever they needed. That’s kind of my thing.

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But who are we if we don’t stick to the things that only we have decided are important? No one would blame me if I ditched writing to go get coffee, but I knew that it was something I’d promised myself I would do. So, in an effort to meet my personal commitment and to still provide something valuable for you (dear reader), I wrote about the very thing I was struggling with. The result was a post called Character.

I’ll confess, it wasn’t the most popular post I’ve written. But it did get a positive response from readers. I got a few emails and comments thanking me for it, telling me it hit at exactly the right time. I was glad of that.

But then there was one person who shared an excerpt from it, and wrote that it was “Empty content, hollow, meaningless. Why even write it?”

First instincts on things like that are to push back, fight back, take my own swipe. But lately I’ve been working hard to remain (or become) humble. I want to respond to things from a place of love rather than react from hurt. So, I thanked him, told him I would try to do better in the future, and then shared his post. Because maybe others would agree, maybe they’d benefit from my response, maybe he’d come around. A lot of maybes.

I don’t think he’s entirely right. That content wasn’t hollow or meaningless. It was the best I could do, with the time and energy I had. I was tired, but I was committed.

But his criticsm did help me, and teach me.

There will always be those times when our best effort isn’t quite good enough. We will sometimes let someone else down. People tend to come to you with expectations.

But what we need to remember is, those expectations are not under our control. And they aren’t our responsibility.

My response to this reader was the right one. I believe that. I didn’t try to slice him in half with my sharp wit, I didn’t try to bring him low or punish him. I wanted to respond in love, and I did. And that is the only obligation I had in that moment.

I can be grateful for the critical feedback. I can. Because even if it stings, I can find the thread in it that leads me to a better version of myself.

But I don’t have to feel guilty or bad or inadequate when I’ve disappointed someone. I have no responsibility to impress or even improve them. If what I’m creating doesn’t work for them, then it’s ok for us to part as friends.

My only obligation is to do the work I feel compelled to do, that which I have decided I must do, and do it for all the reasons I’ve decided are my responsibility.

You have the same opportunity.

People will always criticize you for not doing things the way they think they should be done. It’s going to happen. And it’s going to be ok.

Your job is to be the wonderful creation God made you to be, and to do what you know will serve God and humanity from a place of love. When you discover that someone you’re serving doesn’t think any of your effort is good enough, your only obligation is to listen, learn what you can, and continue doing the best you’re able to do.

Grow when you can grow. Love always and anyways.

That’s your only obligation. Everything else is empty, hollow, no content.