When you feel inspired, write.
When you feel you don’t have a single sensible word in you, write.
When you feel like the last thing you want to do is writing, write.
Because writing will bring your identity and mindset back to where it
belongs.
Because you’re a writer.
And writers write.
AI may write like us – but why do we write in the first place?
AI may translate what we say – but why do we say what we say in the first place?
AI may do what we do – but why do we do what we do in the first place?
Does AI merely regurgitate and build upon what we’ve already said and done?
Do we merely regurgitate and build upon what others have already said and done?
What drives our words and actions?
It’s fine to go slow and steady until you’re ready to go faster.
And even when you’re ready to go faster, it’s still fine to go slow and steady.
Slow and steady, so you have the space to listen to the sounds.
Slow and steady, so you have time to look around.
Slow and steady, so you don’t burn out.
Slow and steady, so you enjoy the journey.
Slow and steady.
Always moving.
Always in flow.
Always ready.
When you go slow and steady.
Language helps us describe the world we perceive. Yet in doing so, it closes our eyes, our ears, our touch, and our heart to the parts of the world we don’t have words for.
Every language is a lens on a felt reality within and around us – both clarifying and categorizing the world, and limiting it by the words it has available.
Learning more languages gives you new lenses – and a richer sense of reality.
But just like the structure of our ears limit the sounds we can hear, and the structure of our eyes limit colors we can see, the structure of any language somehow limits our felt experience of the world.
How do we re-access memories, emotions, hidden away in a long-forgotten language?
How do we re-learn to listen to the voices of the wordless world speaking to our animal self… the voices that once upon a time, before verbal language emerged, were all we had?
there’s an eternal song
drowned out by the confines of my mother tongue
a wordless melody that once made sense
until our brain started blurring it with a lens
narrowing it down
neglecting its nuances through verbs and nounswith all its might language wants us to abide
Lukas Van Vyve
but the wordless world it tries to hide
will forever be inside
“I’m not negotiating with myself. I signed that contract with myself, I’m doing it.” – Kobe Bryant
— Kobe Highlights & Motivation (@kobehighlight) January 1, 2022
Mamba motivation to start the New Year (via Jay Shetty).
pic.twitter.com/CZMfnezIQx
I commit to taking a cold shower. To publish a daily blog post. To do a yoga class, because these actions contribute to my vision for who I want to be.
I commit, despite the knowledge that when the time has come, right before I turn the shower tap to cold, I won’t want to take a cold shower.
That right before I start writing an article, my mind will throw a million distractios at me.
That right before my yoga workout, my mind will start negotiating with itself, coming up with reasons why I’d better do something else.
“Today it’s cold outside, what if I start tomorrow?”
“I don’t feel like it today, maybe I’ll just write two articles tomorrow?”
“{{insert any excuse my mind makes up to avoid short-term discomfort}}
But now is not the time to negotiate.
Do I choose the long-term pain of regret over the short-term pain of discipline?
Do I choose to cultivate a procrastinator identity, or do I become a go-getter?
Who do I want (and choose) to be?
I can evaluate and adjust my plan afterwards.
But now is not the time to negotiate.
I don’t wake up every day in love with the prospect of writing a blog post.
But I do love that part of my identity is that I publish something every day.
By not publishing, I would lose that part of my identity and end up frustrated because I gave up something I enjoy. And that’s painful.
So I write.
The secret to sticking to your habits: make the pain of quitting bigger than the pain of getting over the resistance against doing what you know is good for you.
Because the pain of discipline is always easier to bear than the pain of regret.
If I don’t write the post I intended to write, I actively avoid the desired result of my writing.
If I don’t do the workout I intended to do, I actively avoid the desired result of my workout (being in better shape, running a new PR,…)
If I don’t have the difficult conversation I intended to have, I actively avoid the desired result of that conversation.
Inaction is not the lack of action.
Inaction is taking active action to avoid working towards the result you desire.
The real question, then, is:
Why do I actively avoid working toward a desired result?
Am I worried that even if I write daily, I’ll never become a skilled writer?
Am I worried I won’t enjoy writing anymore if I ever get recognition?
Am I worried that writing every day will turn me into a skilled writer, but being a professional writer won’t be fulfilling?
P.S. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that I only have a limited repertoire of examples in this newsletter, my friend
I trust you to apply the insight to your situation.
And maybe, when you’re pondering the question above, you’ll come to the same conclusion as me:
That more often than not, I’m more interested in the comfort of “wanting” something I don’t have than in “taking action to get something.”
