You’re not defined by the saint you wish to be someday.
Nor by the sinner you used to be back in the day.
You’re defined by the actions you decide to take today.
And tomorrow.
And the day after.
But mainly right now. Today.
If I want to act differently, I let go of the past.
If I want to act the same way I always did, I cling to the past.
Both clinging and letting go have their place.
I could cling to a habit of eating healthily, or treating others with kindness.
But maybe I could let go of a habit of self-criticism.
What benefits me? What benefits others?
What harms me? What harms others?
Who do I want to be?
What would happen if you don’t rush?
Maybe suddenly, time will be flush, and ideas lush..
Most habits are hard to stick to because they promise not only a positive lifestyle change but also instant results.
But worrying about building a habit and getting results at the same time leads to frustration and, ultimately, failure – after all, when building a habit, showing up every day is already hard enough.
First, you must learn to trust that you can show up every day, even if you don’t see improvement right away.
Only then do you get a shot at getting results.
The key is in the power of tiny actions, consistently taken.
Who are you trying to convince here?
Is it others, who hold their own perspectives and judgments?
Or is it yourself, wrestling with self-doubt and seeking reassurance?
The only approval you need is your own.
If writing and creating every day were as vital to my survival as drinking water, ingesting food, and bonding… What would life look like?
Biologically, all behavior is driven by pain, pleasure, and the triggers and habits that come from repeated reaction to those stimuli.
So I eat because I want to escape the pain of hunger – or heartbreak, sadness, and frustration.
I connect with others because I’m neurologically hardwired to feel pleasure when bonding… and pain and deprivation when I’m abandoned.
Similarly, I write because I want to escape the frustration of not being able to put into words an insight.
I also write because I enjoy the rush resulting from finding the words that convey what I want to say.
I write because I love the tingling in my back and neck when I combine those words into sentences with just the right rhythm, just the right cadence capturing the meaning, context, emotion of what I want to say…
I write because writing wrests the essence from the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions racing through my mind and body.
I write because when when I write, I feel that at last, I can make sense of life.
And the more meaning I find, the more likely I am to write.
A compelling vision of who I want to be doesn’t just guide my present actions and brings me toward a fulfilling future.
It also helps me deal with the suffering that’s part of living in a complex physical body with a complex mind in a complex society in a complex, uncontrollable world.
Because no matter how strong my vision or purpose is, and no matter what I do or say, inevitable hardship will happen anyway.
So if I know why I’m doing what I do, why I’m going where I go, and why I’m becoming who I want to be, then hopefully, when life gets rough, I’ll react in a better way.
I’ll trust myself to handle the unavoidable suffering.
I’ll trust myself to minimize how much I add to the suffering.
And that makes the future just a little bit brighter for me, everyone, and everything around me.
