When you feel inspired, write.
When you feel you don’t have a single sensible word in you, write.
When you feel like the last thing you want to do is writing, write.
Because writing will bring your identity and mindset back to where it
belongs.
Because you’re a writer.
And writers write.
This book put into words something I didn’t even know I had forgotten: that we’re all animal, but our minds deny it, so we have to learn to become animal again.
With the memory of what being animal is like
back on my mind
the earth is my home again.
It’s not a masterpiece.
It’s not a love song.
It’s not a poem.
Make it not about what you create but about the very fact that you’re creating.
Ugly, pretty, insightful, bland. It doesn’t matter. Just externalize your mind’s chatter.
“Getting better” at something is not a linear process.
You can practice every day and not see any progress.
In fact, you can practice every day and notice deterioration.
But it’s impossible to practice every day without building the self-trust that you have the discipline to practice every day.
I might not have clear proof that I’m becoming a better writer, but I have irrefutable proof that I wrote today, yesterday, and the past 138 days.
And because I write every day, the evidence is building that I am, in fact, a writer.
As my actions shift my identity, the probability that I’ll keep writing increases.
And as long as I keep writing, the probability of writing better work increases.
Tiny Trust Builders are the only reliable proof of progress.
It’s possible to be disciplined to a fault, destroying yourself in the process of doing great things.
But it’s more common to be scared to a fault, preventing you from doing great things in the first place.
Every day in which I write, I build my body of work.
As I build my body of work, I also build a hierarchy of quality.
Because every day, my writing will be slightly better or worse than the day before.
That means that the more I write, comparatively, the more good writing I’ll do.
It also means that the more I write, comparatively, the more bad writing I do.
Both are necessary.
Good writing, to feel progress.
Bad writing, to know what good writing looks and feels like in the first place.
It’s all part of the process.
We all want to avoid doing things that make us miserable.
Yet avoiding them often takes the shape of prioritizing them.
“I’ll do this unpleasant thing first so that I can get to the fun stuff.”
Unfortunately, it seems to be a rule that the more unpleasant tasks you cross off your to-do list, the more unpleasant tasks appear on your to-do list.
Sometimes it makes sense to do the essential things first, even if that means you keep the unpleasant things on your to-do list.
This is not a free pass to avoid unpleasant things and only do something you like.
It’s about doing the things that matter, regardless of whether they’re pleasant.
It’s about coming to terms with the fact that you’ll probably always drown in chores and busy work to do, then doing the important stuff anyway.
Journaling question of the day:
Where are you prioritizing and attracting things that make you miserable instead of doing the work that matters?
