When you know you have crazy work days, build a simple base to come home to.
A serene home environment. A calming evening ritual. A nourishing hobby.
A sanctuary amidst the turmoil.
Because only when you can fully turn it off, can you fully turn it on without burning out.
Working on your business so hard you neglect your health – and end up in bed with a burnout.
Being so absorbed with selflessly helping others you forget to set boundaries – and end up drained and resentful.
Being so focused on the practice your neglect your friends and family – and you end up lonely.
The line between purposeful passion and compulsive addiction is thin.
This is where trust building comes in.
Building trust in your intentions – so you verify that your actions benefit you and your environment.
Building trust in your self-awareness – so you notice when you cross over in compulsive obsession space, and pull yourself back into purposeful passion territory.
Building trust in the people around you – so you listen to them when they see you’re slipping, and you let them help you get back on the right path.
Trust is a beacon of light, keeping you on track.
What will you do today to protect and fuel it?
When everything is urgent, how do we know what to do first?
One solution is adding more nuance:
What’s the most urgent?
What’s the most important?
Breathing is urgent.
A crying child is urgent.
A toilet visit can be urgent.
Sending that email out tonight right before bed instead of tomorrow, maybe not so much?
Here’s the important question:
If you’re going to prioritize the urgent matters anyway, why stress yourself out by calling everything urgent in the first place?
Making everything urgent devalues truly urgent matters.
Because when everything is urgent, nothing is urgent anymore.
Habits are hard to build. But there’s one that’s easy to get used to: starting a new project, then giving up.
Sometimes it’s better not to start at all, so you avoid reinforcing a quitter’s identity: I’ve given up so many times in the past, I’ll probaby give up again.
So how do you know which projects are worth starting?
Ask yourself the following questions:
If the answer to both questions is yes, you’re onto something.
If not, you’re setting yourself up for frustration.
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.
When you write 50 pages a day, only to be forced to recover for a month.
When you start running 5 miles a day without any preparation, only to end up injured.
When you start studying a language for 5 hours a day, only to give up after a week.
When you fly so close to the sun, your wings melt.
When intensity and excitement radiate too brightly, and the reality of life suddenly slaps you in the face.
That’s when you start appreciating the slow, steady flame of consistency that burns long and becomes brighter over time.
And that’s when you’ll see lasting change.
You’ll meet the writer you already are when you start writing.
You’ll discover the writer you could be when you start writing.
And you’ll discover the person you could be when you start finding out what you could do.
