Be fulfilled with what you do (and be happy with what you don’t do).
Be intentional with what you do.
Be consistent with what you do.
Because what you do will change you.
And when you change, you might just get everything you ever wanted.
And you might just become happy with what you have.
You only need to stick to one new habit to prove to yourself that you can change.
One habit. One small activity. One Teeny Tiny Trust Builder where you don’t give up, but stay on track.
Why would you make this hard on yourself?
Write one sentence a day.
Learn one word a day.
Meditate for 1 minute.
Make it ridiculously small if you want.
But stick with it.
Stick with it on day one. And the next day. And the next. And also on the day when the universe seems to conspire against you.
Stick with it, because that one silly little activity can be the start of a changed life.
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.
Learning often implies discovering what you can’t do.
I can’t write and convey what I want to say. I can’t speak Spanish fluently. I can’t do this yoga pose.
For many people that’s also the final destination, when in fact, it’s only the start.
We’re missing a word: Learning is discovering what you can’t do yet.
Or, even better:
Learning is discovering what, through diligent practice, you’ll soon be able to do.
After all, actions overrule thoughts.
I can’t write and find the right words… yet. But with diligent practice, soon, I’ll be able to convey what I want to say.
I’m not able to do this yoga pose… yet. But with diligent practice, soon I will.
I can’t speak Spanish fluently… yet. But with diligent practice, soon I will.
That’s all there is to it.
Discover your current limit. Realize that through diligent practice, you’ll overcome it.
Then you’ll find a new limit. And through diligent practice, you’ll overcome it.
Until you find a new limit, which you’ll overcome… through diligent practice.
Where do you let the discovery of your current limit be your end station?
On Sunday, January 3 2021, motivated by an emotional low point and an article I read on writing “Morning Pages”, I grabbed an old notepad, pen, started writing and didn’t stop until I had filled three pages.
It was the first time in 5 years I wrote something by hand, and the first time in my life I journaled.
I liked it so much that I kept writing every day.
We’re 625 days later now, and I never stopped. 3 pages of Stream of Consciousness journaling a day, 625 days in a row: that’s 1875 pages or relaxing the mind and letting my train of thoughts “stream onto the page”, unfiltered, playfully wandering through my experiences, thoughts, and insights.
But no matter how enjoyable the wandering, lately I’ve been feeling the urge to create something tangible (and valuable) with all those insights and ideas.
Here’s how I envision it:
Daily journaling (Morning Pages) unblocks my stream of consciousness and transfers it to paper, forming the raw material out of which ideas and insights can emerge. In my experience, once I’ve gone through the sea of fluff, I can expect an insight (maybe two if I’m lucky).
Daily sculpting helps me remove all the fluff until only the pure insights are left, and then refine them, like a sculptor chiseling away at a massive block of marble, working to reveal the essence hidden inside of it.
“If you want me to give you a two-hour presentation, I am ready today. If you want only a five-minute speech, it will take me two weeks to prepare.”
– Mark Twain
Sculpting is the hard part. Because when you think about it, the raw material – the ideas and insights – have always been there, just like the famous Davide sculpture has always been hidden inside the block of marble Michelangelo hauled from a quarry in Carrara in the Apuan alps. He just paid attention in a different way and saw what many others didn’t see.
Yet, he wasn’t the only person who had the idea to use a block of marble to sculpt a Biblical figure. But the way he shaped that raw material into something impactful, beautiful, that accurately represents what you had in mind…
That made all the difference.
And it’s a skill that takes a long time to hone.
Which might be why I’ve avoided it for so long. So far, out of 1875 pages of journaling, I’ve published… 4 articles.
Time to change that. From today onwards, I’m adding a “sculpting session” to my day and will publish the result as a “Daily Insight”.
I don’t expect it to be particularly insightful anytime soon. Maybe I’ll never be fully satisfied with anything I come up with.
But when I stick to it every day and arrive at day 50, 100, or day 625…
Who knows how much I’ll have learned about writing, insight generation, communication,…?
Who knows what will have emerged?
Surely more than if I’d do nothing.
Which leads me to the question I’m asking myself today:
What would it feel like if I remove all external judgment from writing and see writing as the practice of exploring thoughts, ideas, feelings, insights, and becoming ever more accurate and impactful in representing them?
My current answer: I’d be focused much more on process and progress, not on competition. I’d feel how I’m getting better every day, not in relationship to others (as in competition), but in relationship to the purest expression of a certain art, skill, or action.
Sculpting away, day by day.
You’ll write the book until you start doubting if you have it in you to write it… then realize that the only way to find out is by actually writing the book.
You’ll prepare for the marathon until you start doubting if you can finish it… then realize that the only way to find out is by actually running the marathon.
You’ll build the business until you start doubting if this is a viable idea… then realize that the only way to find out is by actually building the business.
No matter how much you dance circles, ignoring what your gut has been telling you, deep down, you know: this is where you should’ve gone all along.
The future I want to see affects the present I create.
And so does the future I don’t want to see.
Do I let fear of what could go wrong reign my day?
Or excitement about what could be?
Whatever I choose, I may well end up proving myself right.
