Not taking action on your dreams won’t get you anywhere.
But taking too much action will burn you out – and won’t get you anywhere either.
In an ideal world:
It’s about the way you say, “I’m tired, and I’m here anyway.”
It’s about the way you say, “I’m exhausted, I’m skipping this one, and that’s okay, because I’ll be back on track the next day.”
It’s about the way you say, “Come what may, I’m in this, and from my chosen path, I won’t be led astray.”
It’s about intentionality and elastic discipline.
It’s about direction.
Most of all, it’s about feeling good, not guilty.
It’s fine to go slow and steady until you’re ready to go faster.
And even when you’re ready to go faster, it’s still fine to go slow and steady.
Slow and steady, so you have the space to listen to the sounds.
Slow and steady, so you have time to look around.
Slow and steady, so you don’t burn out.
Slow and steady, so you enjoy the journey.
Slow and steady.
Always moving.
Always in flow.
Always ready.
When you go slow and steady.
Could you be at peace when you make massive progress?
Could you be at peace when feel you’re going backwards?
Could you be at peace when nothing seems to be moving at all?
Could you be at peace no matter what, because you know what must happen must happen?
Performance gap: the frustrating gap between how you know something should be done in an ideal world and how you currently do it.
One implication of the performance gap: you don’t have to master this skill today.
Another implication, maybe even more important: your idea of how something “should be done” is probably wrong anyway.
Because as you practice and gain mastery, you’ll also gain progressive insight: a more nuanced intellectual understanding of the skill you’re practicing.
What I thought was a “good” yoga session six months ago, I now see as a session full of misalignment and cramped muscles.
What I thought of as a solid piece of writing six months ago, I now see as an argument full of holes and points of improvement.
Sometimes, progressive insight is just about more nuances.
Sometimes, progressive insight shows that your initial intellectual understanding completely missed the mark.
There’s only one way to find out: practice: Sculpt away, day by day.
Before I learned not to listen
I would stand
seemingly still
but secretly swaying
swallowed up by a willow tree
and its play with the windBefore I learned not to listen
I would hold my head against the rind
reach
reconnect with an old friend
the way it has always felt best
cheek pressed to chestBefore I learned not to listen
a breeze in the leaves
rustling ruminating
would sound like raindrops in my ears
making my eyes answer
with a torrent of tearsBefore I learned not to listen
a rolling thunder
thumping like a beating heart
would rumble from my cheek to my ear
replacing my fear
with a memory I used to held dear
we were never really apartBefore I learned not to listen
before the lust for language
reduced what I could see
and sense within
I would allow the whispers of the wordless world
speak to me like kinBefore I learned not to listen
Lukas Van Vyve
I would accept
that once upon a time
I remembered your name
and once upon a time we both knew
we were one and all the same
Writing is hard – but I’d love to be a writer, so I write.
Painting is hard – and I wouldn’t love being a painter, so I don’t paint.
Some things are worth the struggle and sacrifice for me – and maybe not for you.
Some things are worth the struggle and sacrifice for you – and maybe not for me.
