The more frequent and the less intrusive the habit, the easier it is to stick to.
Commit to writing for an hour once week? You’ll find a million reasons to procrastinate until the very last moment, on Sunday night, to write.
Commit to writing for 5 minutes once a day? The timeline is so short, there are no more excuses.
Make it doable. Make it frequent. And suddenly every habit is within reach.
I basically write the same song over and over, but they’re just verses of this one really long one. I’m trying to figure it out.
The Tallest Man on Earth
I write every day so I start to understand what I really want to say.
I don’t usually get it right on the first try; maybe I’m not even getting close after 100 iterations.
And that’s fine.
There probably won’t be one post that captures it all.
Maybe understanding emerges from whole of the 100 iterations instead?
Overgeneralization: I failed to stick to a new habit once, so I’ll always give up.
Undergeneralization: Even though I’ve been writing consistently for months, I’m still expecting the day I’ll finally give up again.
Both are manifestations of self-sabotage and perpetuations of a negative self-image.
The only way out: don’t focus on habits, focus on Tiny Trust Builders.
Let your actions be a vote for who you want to be.
Let your actions overrule your thoughts.
Let your actions change your identity.
One day at a time.
How likely is the scenario you’re worrying about?
And how impactful or life-threatening is that scenario?
Now, how much mental bandwidth is worrying about it taking up?
Are your worries proportionate to the actual danger?
Should you be worrying at all?
If not, could you stop right away?
Of course, you and I both know that’s not always how it works, my friend.
Because even if we know rationally that we shouldn’t worry, the worrier mind tends to scoff at answering rational questions.
Yet today, I had an insight: maybe those questions aren’t meant to dismiss the worrier mind at all but empower the sane mind, temporarily suppressed and overpowered?
Maybe they can provide enough encouragement to make the sane mind stand up for itself again and say, “Enough is enough.”
Maybe that way, the sane mind will put the worrier mind back in its place, reminding it of the only task where it truly shines: protect us from life-threatening risks.
Or maybe not. I don’t know, my friend. You’ve seen me: I’m just another human with good days and bad—productive days and lazy. Days of irrational fears and worry, and days of relaxing, dreaming, and visioning.
But this I do know: worrying too much has never improved my mood, and I doubt it has ever improved yours.
So if you’ve had an overactive worrier mind lately, trying won’t hurt.
Let me know how it goes.
No matter if you write or not, run or not, spend time with family or not…
No matter what you say, what you care most about will show up in what you do.
Today is your lucky day, my friend.
Or at least, it could be, depending on how you interpret what will happen.
Today is your worst day ever, my friend.
Or at least, it could be, depending on how you interpret what will happen.
The choice is yours. It has always been.
P.S. I don’t know about you, but weirdly enough, being able to decide over your luck didn’t feel like a relief to me at first.
That’s a good topic for another day…
I can believe I’ve published the perfect insight – until I narrate the podcast version a couple of weeks later and suddenly notice subtle typos and, sometimes, logical flaws. The typos and flaws were always there – but did I make a mistake earlier?
I can believe I’ve nailed this yoga pose – until, during one session, I suddenly sense some tension in my neck I had never noticed before. The tension was always there – did I make a mistake earlier?
I can believe I’ve cooked the perfect dish – until one day, I notice that the sauce tastes even better with a little less salt. But, even before I noticed it, the improvement was always there – did I make a mistake earlier?
Maybe learning is not about errors but about gaining ever more subtle awareness.
