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.
It’s not about the book; it’s about the fact that you started writing consistently.
It’s not about the marathon; it’s about the fact that you started practicing diligently.
Achievements are the results that will soon become a distant memory.
Habits are the results you’ll carry with you for a lifetime.
“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.
The other day, I talked about changing your focus to change how you feel about the events in your day.
But something strange happened when I first had that realization.
It didn’t feel like a relief.
Do I even want that responsibility? To choose how events affect me?
After all, that would take away my right to complain about how poorly life treats me.
I couldn’t ascribe any successes or achievements to “sheer luck” anymore.
And wouldn’t it be silly to say I don’t deserve happiness, luck, or anything good if I knew I could change my focus and be lucky this very moment?
What a burden.
I’m still deciding if I am strong enough to carry it.
But one thing’s for sure: the days I have the presence of mind to direct my focus are the days I feel best.
I wonder if it’d be like that for you, too.
Maybe you could try it out? Even if it’s to indulge me.
See how it feels.
And let me know how it goes. I’m curious about you.
You don’t have to become a writer. But you could. Even if you don’t believe it yet.
And if knowing that you could makes you restless…
If the fact that it’s possible makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up…
If a persistent “What if” keeps echoing through your mind…
Then maybe you should become a writer.
Similarly, you don’t have to be passionate about anything. But you could.
And if you could… what would you be passionate about?
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 can’t just say, “today, I’m going to be excellent at writing.”
Excellence is an outcome: a result of focused daily actions.
And one of the fastest ways to excellence is the pursuit of failure.
Not just making accidental mistakes but actively seeking them out.
Did I write nonsense today? Did I understand why I was writing nonsense? Have I learned something from writing that nonsense that will help me write something less nonsensical tomorrow?
The pursuit of failure is painful, especially for perfectionists like me.
But once ego, perfectionism, and the fear of failure make way for a commitment to the process, there’s much to learn from daily mistakes.
