By Larry Lundstrom
On sushi, unconventional schedules, and the overlooked value of being human.
There are few things better than a great lunch at one of your favorite local spots. Especially when that lunch involves fresh sushi, a little quiet, and absolutely no rush to get somewhere else.
One of my go-to places is The Twisted Chopstick in DeLand, Florida. And frankly, fresh sushi is one of the underrated bonuses of living near the coast.
A good meal. A comfortable spot to open the laptop. A change of scenery. Sometimes that’s all it takes to reset the mind and find a little creative momentum.
Once or twice a week, I’ll work remotely from a favorite restaurant or coffee shop. It’s become part of my rather unorthodox approach to managing projects, clients, creative work, and life.
But something unexpected has happened along the way.
I’ve discovered that some of the most meaningful moments in my week have absolutely nothing to do with what I do for a living.
A stranger with a flat tire. Someone whose car has run out of gas. An opportunity to help a person navigate a difficult moment. A conversation that wasn’t on the calendar and certainly wasn’t in the project scope.
None of these moments came with a purchase order. There was no statement of work, measurable KPI, or invoice to follow.
Just a person who needed another person. And, for once, I had the margin to notice.
We’ve Become Very Good at Being Busy
Somewhere along the way, we started confusing productivity with purpose.
We measure our days in meetings attended, projects delivered, revenue generated, and problems solved. We build systems to maximize output, optimize schedules, and eliminate wasted time.
I get it. I lead a creative and innovation agency. I’m wired to build, solve, improve, and move things forward. I enjoy the work, and I believe doing it well matters.
But efficiency can become a strange kind of prison.
We can become so committed to squeezing value out of every available minute that we leave no room for the unexpected.
No room for interruptions.
No room for people who need something we can’t monetize.
And sometimes, no room for ourselves.
What if the space between our obligations isn’t wasted time? What if it’s where some of life’s most important work happens?
The Beautiful Interruption
I’ve been thinking about the story of the Good Samaritan.
In Luke 10, Jesus tells of a man beaten and left on the side of the road. Two religious leaders pass him by. Then a Samaritan stops, cares for his wounds, and makes arrangements for his recovery.
We don’t know what was on the Samaritan’s calendar that day. We don’t know where he was headed or how urgent his business might have been.
But we know he stopped. That detail has always struck me.
He wasn’t necessarily looking for an opportunity to serve. He was simply willing to be interrupted by one.
And that’s a distinction worth considering.
You can have an impressive mission statement, a successful career, and a calendar filled with meaningful commitments, yet still walk past the very person God has placed in your path.
Not because you don’t care. But because you’re too occupied to notice.
Permission to Be Human
There’s a quiet freedom in giving ourselves permission to be human.
To enjoy lunch without treating it as a networking opportunity. To have a conversation without searching for its professional relevance. To take the scenic route. To notice someone struggling. To be present without feeling obligated to produce something.
Even to sit with a plate of sushi and appreciate that, for this particular hour, life is pretty good.
This isn’t an argument against ambition. We need people who pursue excellence, build organizations, create jobs, lead teams, and solve difficult problems. I’m one of them.
It’s simply a reminder that our value as human beings extends far beyond the value we generate economically.
We’re more than our titles. More than our deliverables. More than the revenue we produce or the influence we accumulate.
We’re neighbors. Friends. Spouses. Parents. And, occasionally, the random person who happens to have jumper cables when someone else needs them.
There is something profoundly human about being available. And availability requires margin.
A Different Kind of Return on Investment
I’ve spent a good portion of my career thinking about growth, innovation, measurable impact, and return on investment.
I still believe in all of those things. But I’m increasingly interested in another kind of return. The return on being present.
The return on a conversation that goes somewhere unexpected. The return on helping a stranger get back on the road. The return on a moment of quiet that gives your mind room to wander and your soul permission to catch up.
Some of the best things in life don’t scale. They don’t fit neatly into a dashboard. You can’t automate them, outsource them, or turn them into a repeatable business model.
And maybe that’s part of what makes them valuable. Our culture celebrates people who are relentlessly available to their work.
“What if the space between our obligations isn’t wasted time? What if it’s where some of life’s most important work happens?”
I wonder what would happen if we became a little more available to each other.
Not less responsible. Not less ambitious. Just more aware.
More mindful of the people and possibilities surrounding us.
More willing to leave a little white space on the calendar, without immediately filling it.
More comfortable being a human being instead of constantly proving ourselves as human doings.
So yes, I’ll keep taking my laptop to The Twisted Chopstick. I’ll keep enjoying good sushi, working through creative challenges, and taking advantage of the flexibility that comes with an unconventional schedule.
But I’m learning to appreciate something beyond the meal and the work.
The space between things.
Because sometimes the most important thing you accomplish all day isn’t something you planned to do.
It’s simply being available when someone needs you.
And that might be the best return on time we’ll ever experience.
Larry Lundstrom | CLLCTV.org
Innovation, leadership, faith, and the occasional reminder that life is happening between the meetings.
The restaurant, The Twisted Chopstick, is located in DeLand and specializes in creative Japanese and Asian-fusion cuisine.
