What would you still do even if nobody else would ever see or hear it?
What do you secretly love but you don’t WANT anyone else to see or hear – out of fear of being judged?
Both are good indicators of a passion – or an addiction.
If it’s a passion, and it’s good for you (aligned with your values and goals and fulfilling): pursue.
If it’s an addiction, and it’s bad for you: reconsider.
Thought of the day: it’s better to be proven wrong than to be paralyzed in doubt.
Which conclusions did I draw from past experiences?
Have I overreacted to petty events, and ignored beautiful moments?
Have I deleted memories? Maybe invented some?
Have I built stories based on generalizations?
Most importantly: how does the past I still feel affect my actions today?
And if I know a lot of it was my own interpretation… could I change my past, or at least what it means to me?
Would that set me free?
I was undoubtedly in a pensive mood when writing this.
I guess, given the daily letters I send you, you might conclude I’m in a pensive mood every day.
And you wouldn’t be wrong.
But pensive moods can be useful – when they’re coupled with conclusions and insights. Maybe even with Tiny Trust Builders.
And if any of these questions help you re-interpret your past and set you free, too, I’ll be a happy man.
A wistful win-win.
I write about the same topics over and over again, with slightly different words.
I listen to people explaining the same topics over and over again, with a slightly different interpretation.
I practice the same breathing exercises every day, becoming aware of changes so subtle it’s hard to believe they make any difference.
While all that energy spent on what seems like “repeating” and “reviewing” might seem like a waste of time, the constant revisiting of things we already know is how I grow.
Because with every repetition I’m discovering a new part of the same insight.
A new nuance that in itself might seem insignificant, but added to my personal experience, insights, understanding, might make all the difference.
And with every new insight, I become a little less blind to what’s already here.
In the process, I have to accept that the perfect words might never come.
The perfect explanation might never come.
The perfect execution of a skill might never happen.
But if I stay the course, my understanding of what matters to me in life will always keep growing.
At some point, through all the practicing, learning, reading, writing, I might stumble upon a groundbreaking insight.
Or maybe it never happens.
It doesn’t matter. I feel fulfilled regardless… As long as I keep sculpting away, day by day.
Sometimes I ask myself if you are asking yourself why I write you a short note every day, my friend.
Maybe I’m giving myself too much credit, and you’ve never asked yourself that question.
But I will answer it anyway, so let’s pretend you have.
Here’s the socially acceptable answer: for more than 200 days, I’ve been writing you a short note every day to remind you to make intelligent decisions about your life and who you want to be.
But as so often with us humans, the honest answer is more self-centered: I write you a short note every day to remind myself to make intelligent decisions about my life and who I want to be.
The fact that some insights are helpful to you is a nice bonus. But I would also write them if you have yet to read a single one of these insights.
Because to me, writing every day is a rallying cry for myself in an invisible battle that nobody might ever see – because it only exists in my head.
A battle against frustration, giving up, limiting beliefs, and a cage of social conditioning from which it’s hard to break free.
A battle to become who I’ve always wanted to be.
Yes, every note I write to you, my friend, is outward proof of a tiny inner victory, taking tiny steps towards more self-trust and fulfillment.
You may tell me I don’t have anything to prove to anyone, especially not myself.
And you may be right.
But I also know that we all have our battles to fight.
Battles about what we believe we deserve or not.
What we think we can do or not.
What we believe is possible for us or not.
What we desire.
Who we can be.
So while you might not be asking yourself why I write you something every day, I am asking myself which battles you are fighting.
I am looking for outward proof of your inner victories.
Whatever they are, when you shine a light on your invisible battles, I’ll be here to cheer you on.
The outcome is not the book.
The outcome is not the marathon.
The outcome is not the successful business.
The outcome is not even the daily habit you form, even though they’re the stepping stones you need.
The outcome is the embodiment of the changes we’ve internalized, the growth we’ve experienced, and the evolution we’ve undergone, allowing us to say, “This is what I now stand for. This is what I believe is possible.”
The outcome is the identity.
Maybe it’s less about “What do I want to achieve?” and more about “What do I want to believe?”
When I write, I’m meditating.
When I meditate, I’m writing.
When I run, I’m meditating.
When I meditate, I’m running.
When I play the guitar, I’m meditating.
When I meditate, I’m playing the guitar.
When I meditate, I’m writing.
When I write, I’m running.
When I run, I’m playing the guitar.
And no matter what I do, I’m always living.
Life experience always carries over.
