Without sadness, how do I know I’m happy?
Without happiness, how do I know I’m sad?
Without anger, how do I know I’m grateful?
Without gratitude, how do I know I’m angry?
Without pain, how do I know what pleasure feels like?
Without pleasure, how do I know I’m in pain?
Without bad moments, how can I appreciate the good ones?
Without good moments, what gets me through the bad ones?
Contrast.
If you can’t fully focus
You’ll never be able to fully relax
And if you can’t fully turn it on
You’ll never be able to fully turn it off
If I start learning a new language, I don’t aim to be good.
My only goal: integrate a daily language learning habit into my day, as a habit container, without much regard for progress.
Only when the habit container is in place, and I have built trust of completion (“Now I am the person who spends some time learning a language every single day”), the question becomes: which activities will build my skills most quickly?
I could use my language learning habit container to learn a word a day – but that won’t help me much when speaking.
Within the exact same habit container, I could also learn a chunk a day (a phrase), which I can use in conversations right away. Same habit container, same time investment, but better results.
Within my “writing habit container”, I can write something in a private notebook every day – which is an excellent habit.
But within that same container, I could also start publishing a short article every day. That changes the game.
Don’t try to be good when building the habit. First build the habit container. Once it’s in place, you can start optimizing the actions you take within that container.
First build trust in completion. Then build trust in skill.
In other words: first I become good at learning a language every day. Then I become good at learning a language.
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.
First I decide to write every day.
That one decision liberates me of the burden of a daily decision: should I write or not?
After all, the decision has already been made, and now is not the time to negotiate.
True freedom is freedom from the burden of making the same decisions over and over again.
Because a decision turns into a constraint.
A constraint turns into the freedom to do what matters.
And when you do what matters, you become who you want to be.
Admiring (flawed) early work is easy when we already know the late work is going to be great.
Everyone forgives Picasso or Da Vinci for a lousy early sketch. In fact, people pay good money to hang one in their living room.
Maybe the early work, showing that even the greats are mere mortals on a journey towards excellence, is the most valuable?
And yet, it’s much harder to be gentle on a beginning artist for shipping mediocre creative work – not in the least for the beginning artist themselves – when their path to excellence hasn’t unfolded yet.
After all, something that one day will be “my early work” is still “my current best work” today.
The road to excellence is invisible from the trenches.
But that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.
Which makes me wonder…
When I know that through persistence and daily practice, one day, I’ll look back on today’s creation, smiling, thinking: “Oh how far I’ve come… How much I’ve learned… And some of this was actually pretty good…”
Can I admire my creative work less for what it looks, feels, or sounds like, and more for who I’m becoming through making it?
Can I do the same for the creative projects of others?
With that mindset… How much easier and forgiving would the daily creative journey be?
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.
