Do you want to fear a future you resent, or focus on a future you create in the present?
Do you even want to know what happens next, if all it does is blind you from what happens right now?
Do you want to focus on a future you fear, if it prevents you from building what’s important, right now, right here?
Overgeneralization: I failed to stick to a new habit once, so I’ll always give up.
Undergeneralization: Even though I’ve been writing consistently for months, I’m still expecting the day I’ll finally give up again.
Both are manifestations of self-sabotage and perpetuations of a negative self-image.
The only way out: don’t focus on habits, focus on Tiny Trust Builders.
Let your actions be a vote for who you want to be.
Let your actions overrule your thoughts.
Let your actions change your identity.
One day at a time.
Whenever you set out to establish a new habit, there’s often a nagging thought at the back of your mind wondering, “When will you quit this time?”
But the naysayer in your head that has had free reign for all these years can’t be silenced.
They can only be proven wrong.
“You expect me to quit? Watch me.”
“Say whatever you want; I am showing up today.”
Tiny Trust Builders, day after day, until the naysayer admits, “I was wrong. You’re not that person anymore.”
The most important habit milestone is the center of gravity shift.
Initially, when you start building a new skill, your center of gravity lies with your old identity. You’re constantly fighting the pull of your old identity. And if you’d stop for even a day, you’ll get pulled right back into your old habits.
“If I don’t write today, what does that say about me? I’ve always given up in the past, and with this habit, it’ll be the same.”
The center of gravity shift happens when you’re about to miss a day and realize:
“It doesn’t matter, tomorrow I’ll start again anyway.”
When you’ve cast so many votes for your “identity of perseverance” you know that missing one day doesn’t equal giving up anymore.
When not writing for a day has become the exception, and when it happens, I get pulled right back into my writing habit.
Before the shift happens, when you’re still building self-trust, discipline is key.
But after your center of gravity has shifted to align with what you want to do anyway… you’re free.
Running when you actually don’t want to go outside.
Writing when you don’t feel like writing at all.
Standing up for who you want to be.
That’s how you finally break free.
The easiest path is to miss all days – you never get going in the first place so you don’t know what you’re missing.
The second easiest is to never miss a day – you’ll get where you want to go with little detours, even if you pay the cost of discipline.
The hardest (and most common) path is to miss a couple of days here and there – now you run the risk of getting lost.
We all miss a day sometimes – so we all get a little lost once in a while.
So what do we do?
We remind ourselves why we got started.
We remind ourselves where we’re going.
We remind ourselves that we’ve been lost before – and that we can always get back on track.
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.
