Intentional Living

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.

“Is this really important right now?” I ask myself, as another distraction passes through my head.

I imagine an old wise man, disturbed from his task at hand, looking up.

“No? Can you come back later then, at a more appropriate time? Thank you very much.”

Back to work he goes.

“Is this really a life-threatening event?” I ask myself, as another anxiety-inducing thought intrudes my mind.

I imagine the same old wise man, fending off a harassing distraction.

“No? Can you come back with a message more appropriate to the severity of the event? Thank you very much.”

On with life he goes.

If only it were that easy, my friend.

The distracted, anxious, worried mind tends to fight back. I’m taking the liberty to assume you’ve also noticed that at some point in your life.

Nevertheless, I believe we can, nay, we must fight back.

Not that I’m advocating suppression.

Excited, worried, sanguine, anxious, passionate, defeated: let them have their moment of attention – at the appropriate time.

Maybe it’s all about the art of making all the selves get along?

I imagine the old wise man, who has mastered that art.

I know I’m not that old wise man yet.

But I could be, if I make it a point to practice every day.

And so could you, if you make it a point to practice every day.

If that’s something that’s important to you, of course. That’s for you to decide, in your personal situation and in your personal life.

When you decide if you should be chasing this goal, job, relationship, or place to live – in other words, commitment – you choose between action or inaction based on if it’s a viable, worthwhile, realistic goal.

When you decide on the course of action – in other words, how to do something – you’re already committed to action.

Sometimes, the commitment might be too big, too hard, or too disruptive – and that’s perfectly valid.

But here’s what I’ve noticed, my friend: whenever I try to decide on the how before I’ve decided on the commitment, I have even more doubts, and any course of action seems complicated.

I’m curious how you feel about it. We’ll talk more about it in the coming days and weeks.

“Don’t you ever run out of ways to write a letter every day on the same topic?” I imagine you ask me.

In fact, I don’t have to imagine it. I have been asked this question many a time. Not in the least by myself.

Yet here we are, over 200 days in, and I’ve learned that there are many more ways to say the same thing than I ever thought possible.

What’s more: I’ve learned that they’re all equally important.

Because today’s letter could be what finally makes it click for you.
Because today’s letter could be what finally makes it click for me.
Because today’s letter invalidates my scarcity beliefs around idea generation – after all, if I can come up with a new letter every day for 200+ days, where else do I mistakenly believe I’ll run out of ideas, opportunities, or possibilities?

And, of course, because today’s letter is my personal Tiny Trust Builder.

So for as long as I can, for as long as I need it, and for as long as I believe YOU need it, you’ll receive a letter every day.

That’s right: every day, more wordplay
finding a thousand ways to say
that no matter what comes your way
only your self-trust is here to stay.

Today is your lucky day, my friend.
Or at least, it could be, depending on how you interpret what will happen.

Today is your worst day ever, my friend.
Or at least, it could be, depending on how you interpret what will happen.

The choice is yours. It has always been.

P.S. I don’t know about you, but weirdly enough, being able to decide over your luck didn’t feel like a relief to me at first.

That’s a good topic for another day…

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 could decide that writing less than 1000 words a day would be a failure – and I would be correct.

I could decide that writing more than 50 words a day would be a failure – and I would be correct.

I could decide that not writing today would be failure – and I would be correct.

After all, for many things in life, you get to decide yourself what’s failure and what’s success.

In fact, my friend, just like me you may have already decided for yourself what’s failure and what’s success.

And just like me, you may need a reminder of that decision once in a while, so you can verify if it still serves you.

This is that reminder.

Which serves me well, because my decision was that writing you this short daily letter is exactly right.

See you tomorrow.

I guess all I really want to say today is:

There’s something you’re doing great at.

There always is.

Can you see it?

The path toward self-awareness isn’t always pleasant. 

Take yesterday, when I realized that in many cases, I’m more interested in the comfort of “wanting” something I don’t have than in “taking action to get something.”

That unappealing realization triggered a cascade of even more unappealing questions.

Would I rather mess around with small blog posts instead of becoming a skilled writer crafting coherent arguments?

Would I rather learn about a million different strategies to grow a newsletter instead of actually spreading the word and getting more people to read my newsletter?

Would I rather learn how to learn a language than actually learn a new language?

Is the frustration of unrealized potential also a huge source of comfort in my life?

I’m not sure if I should be happy with that realization. 

Maybe realizations aren’t even supposed to make me happy.

But even if they were, it doesn’t matter. 

Because look: here I am, writing another insight about it.

Another Tiny Trust Builder, proving that every day, I am one step closer to renouncing my citizenship of the United States of “If I wanted, I could.”

Another reminder to myself and you, my friend, one I’ll repeat until the bitter end: actions overrule thoughts.

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.”