Maybe you’ll succeed.
Or maybe you’re destined to fail at this, to prepare you for your next venture.
And if you’re destined to fail… is failing really a failure?
Or is it a success?
Who knows whether it’s true or not.
But it’s definitely reassuring.
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.
Intentional living is about reminding yourself of what’s most important to you.
Reminding yourself that you can choose to be a writer, a runner, a musician, an artist, or a bon vivant.
Reminding yourself that you can choose to be kind to others.
Reminding yourself that you have a choice to act differently.
Reminding yourself that the past does not equal the future.
Reminding yourself that this, too, shall pass.
Reminding yourself that at any given moment, whatever reminder you need the most, you likely won’t think of yourself.
Reminding yourself that for this reason, it’s OK to get help and let someone else remind you with short daily notes.
And me, reminding myself that the act of writing daily reminders for you is the reminder I need to remember that I do, in fact, choose to be consistent, and I choose to be a writer.
Reminders upon reminders upon reminders that we will constantly get distracted, and we will always have the choice to come back to what truly matters.
feigned feelings lead to forced forging
of a bond, brittle, easily brokenbut when i learn to listen
to the winds whirling within
stop seeing them as a sinwhen i hold them back no more
forceful feelings finally roar
revealing a hidden song
sung secretly for so longmy true self set free
softly I breathe
my melody into your mind
feelings mingle, sometimes grind
leaving the shyness far behindand hearing our songs entwined
I am no longer blind
to the insight
that we’ve been singing the same song
of a wordless world where we all belongat last I feel strong
Lukas Van Vyve
for we were always one
blessed by a bond
that can’t be undone
Go slow.
Go steady.
Do whatever it takes.
But don’t wait to go until you feel ready.
Ernest Hemingway allegedly stopped his writing sessions in the middle of a sentence so he knew how to start his next session. He stopped writing, even if he could do more.
Julia Cameron teaches to write precisely three pages of stream-of-consciousness journaling a day. Stop journaling, even if you could do more.
I’ve gotten better results studying foreign languages 20 minutes a day for several months than rushing into a new language and studying it for 3 hours a day, then crashing and burning. I stop myself from learning, even if I could do more.
Because burnout and overindulgence stifle progress, and in the long run, moderation leads to more.
When you decide if you should be chasing this goal, job, relationship, or place to live – in other words, commitment – you choose between action or inaction based on if it’s a viable, worthwhile, realistic goal.
When you decide on the course of action – in other words, how to do something – you’re already committed to action.
Sometimes, the commitment might be too big, too hard, or too disruptive – and that’s perfectly valid.
But here’s what I’ve noticed, my friend: whenever I try to decide on the how before I’ve decided on the commitment, I have even more doubts, and any course of action seems complicated.
I’m curious how you feel about it. We’ll talk more about it in the coming days and weeks.
