#228 Battling questions with questions
One question to make distractions fall away and make the mind turn quiet:
What’s most important right this very second?
Not today. Not this week. Right this very second.
One question to make distractions fall away and make the mind turn quiet:
What’s most important right this very second?
Not today. Not this week. Right this very second.
You won’t feel that you’re getting addicted to social media when you scroll through feeds on your smartphone every day. But you are.
You also won’t feel that you’re becoming a writer when you write just 1 minute a day. But you are.
You’re always on track to doing something or becoming someone. But rarely will it feel that way in the day to day.
Choose wisely.
When you write every day, you’ll start believing you can write every day.
When you run every day, you’ll start believing you can run every day.
Therefore, you don’t need to believe in your capabilities before taking action.
First, you act. Then your beliefs react.
You don’t need to feel motivated to write a sentence.
You don’t even need to want to write to have words appear on the screen or the paper.
You just need to be reminded that you want to be a writer.
And writers write, just like runners run. Musicians make music. Parents parent. Yogis do yoga. Farmers farm.
Even if they don’t feel like it.
Nobody chooses to get addicted to social media.
We chose to get something of value: stay connected with friends. Stay up-to-date. Discover interesting voices.
Then we get addicted through features that bring little value: likes, notification signs, flashy videos hijacking our brains. That’s where the addiction creeps up to you.
If the interests of social media apps (make you spend as much time as possible on the platform) start deviating so much from the original reason we started using them…
Is massive addiction worth the minimal value?
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.
I’ve met many aspiring writers who weren’t writing regularly.
But I’ve never met a successful writer who wasn’t writing regularly.
Or yogis.
Or musicians.
Or athletes.