If you wouldn’t see overwhelming results in your first 30 days of writing, working out, dieting, or learning an instrument, would you still show up?
Are you okay with small, almost invisible gains because the process of learning, creating, practicing is fulfilling enough in itself?
And if not, could you be okay with that, if you knew it was the key to learning or creating anything you ever wanted?
Not taking action on your dreams won’t get you anywhere.
But taking too much action will burn you out – and won’t get you anywhere either.
In an ideal world:
In working-class cafés in Napoli, people who experienced good luck often buy a coffee, then another one “pending”, which the barista can serve to anyone at his own discretion: a caffè sospeso.
A symbol of social trust and solidarity. Or, in the hands of marketeers and big coffee chains, a tool for increasing sales.
Regardless, it’s an act minimal enough to not to turn the donor into a hero, and small enough not to affect the receiver’s self-worth.
If such accessible acts of generosity make the donor feel good, and the receiver of a free coffee too…
And if it’s something almost everyone can do, not just billionaire philanthropists…
It’s an initiative worth spreading. Maybe not only for coffee.
Learning a skill isn’t so much about getting better – that’s just a side effect.
It’s about discovering new ways of doing the same thing – just because you can, and just because you’re curious.
Doing the same thing, this time precisely – then doing it again, not precisely at all.
Doing the same thing, this time deliberately, carefully thinking about every step – then doing it again, not thinking about any steps at all.
When you stay curious, you learn to discover nuances you couldn’t perceive before.
When you stay curious, you learn to be deliberate until you can be intuitive.
When you stay curious, you learn to become less blind to what’s already here.
And when you stay curious, you realize there’s not much more to a fulfilling life than sculpting away, day by day – and anything can be a fulfilling skill.
Writing is hard – but I’d love to be a writer, so I write.
Painting is hard – and I wouldn’t love being a painter, so I don’t paint.
Some things are worth the struggle and sacrifice for me – and maybe not for you.
Some things are worth the struggle and sacrifice for you – and maybe not for me.
I couldn’t imagine finding time for 3 pages of stream-of-consciousness journaling a day – until I started writing them. 700 days later, I haven’t missed a day.
I couldn’t imagine finding time or energy to publish a daily blog post – until I started publishing them. 70 days later, I haven’t missed a day.
I couldn’t imagine finding time or willpower for 5 yoga sessions a week – until I started doing them. 2 years later, I can’t imagine not doing them anymore.
Sometimes it’s hard to see how you could have time or energy for something before you just start doing it. Then it becomes the new normal.
It’s your mind playing tricks on you.
Start doing (and start small). Keep doing. Then start believing.
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.
