#558 The fear of having to do without something
The fear of having to do without something
Is usually scarier than actually doing without the thing.
The fear of having to do without something
Is usually scarier than actually doing without the thing.
Most people are kind at heart and would be happy to help you – and other people – out all the time if only, you know, just like you, they didn’t have a life of their own full of obligations, dreams, passions, and worries. In other words, a life that doesn’t entirely revolve around being at your service.
I don’t know if that always holds for everyone, my friend. And it’s not a free pass for selfishness or treating others poorly.
But I do like to believe it’s mainly a mental bandwidth challenge and that deep down, people always want to help.
Because it makes me more understanding and empathetic. For other people’s behavior and my own.
After all, it’s not about you. It’s not about me. It’s about us all.
When everything is urgent, how do we know what to do first?
One solution is adding more nuance:
What’s the most urgent?
What’s the most important?
Breathing is urgent.
A crying child is urgent.
A toilet visit can be urgent.
Sending that email out tonight right before bed instead of tomorrow, maybe not so much?
Here’s the important question:
If you’re going to prioritize the urgent matters anyway, why stress yourself out by calling everything urgent in the first place?
Making everything urgent devalues truly urgent matters.
Because when everything is urgent, nothing is urgent anymore.
The ideas that are hardest to write about are the ideas worth writing about.
The thoughts that are hardest to explain are the thoughts worth explaining.
The feelings that are hardest to express are the feelings worth expressing.
I can’t just say, “today, I’m going to be excellent at writing.”
Excellence is an outcome: a result of focused daily actions.
And one of the fastest ways to excellence is the pursuit of failure.
Not just making accidental mistakes but actively seeking them out.
Did I write nonsense today? Did I understand why I was writing nonsense? Have I learned something from writing that nonsense that will help me write something less nonsensical tomorrow?
The pursuit of failure is painful, especially for perfectionists like me.
But once ego, perfectionism, and the fear of failure make way for a commitment to the process, there’s much to learn from daily mistakes.
“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.
Every day we spend another day of our lives.
Where do I spend it?
Why?
Who do I spend it with?
Why?
What do I spend it on?
Why?
What’s it all about?