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    #216 Outward Proof of Inner Victories

    Sometimes I ask myself if you are asking yourself why I write you a short note every day, my friend.

    Maybe I’m giving myself too much credit, and you’ve never asked yourself that question.

    But I will answer it anyway, so let’s pretend you have.


    Here’s the socially acceptable answer: for more than 200 days, I’ve been writing you a short note every day to remind you to make intelligent decisions about your life and who you want to be.

    But as so often with us humans, the honest answer is more self-centered: I write you a short note every day to remind myself to make intelligent decisions about my life and who I want to be.

    The fact that some insights are helpful to you is a nice bonus. But I would also write them if you have yet to read a single one of these insights.

    Because to me, writing every day is a rallying cry for myself in an invisible battle that nobody might ever see – because it only exists in my head.

    A battle against frustration, giving up, limiting beliefs, and a cage of social conditioning from which it’s hard to break free.

    A battle to become who I’ve always wanted to be.

    Yes, every note I write to you, my friend, is outward proof of a tiny inner victory, taking tiny steps towards more self-trust and fulfillment.

    You may tell me I don’t have anything to prove to anyone, especially not myself.

    And you may be right.

    But I also know that we all have our battles to fight.

    Battles about what we believe we deserve or not.

    What we think we can do or not.

    What we believe is possible for us or not.

    What we desire.

    Who we can be.

    So while you might not be asking yourself why I write you something every day, I am asking myself which battles you are fighting.

    I am looking for outward proof of your inner victories.

    Whatever they are, when you shine a light on your invisible battles, I’ll be here to cheer you on.

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    #145 The practice becomes the identity

    I write every day until I’m a writer.

    I paint every day until I’m a painter.

    I practice the guitar every day until I’m a guitar player.

    I love my family every day until I become a family person.


    I prove to myself that I can take one daily action aligned with who I want to be.

    And before I know it, the practice becomes the identity.

  • #323 It’s about the way you say…

    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.

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    #159 What unintentional living looks like

    Unintentional living and identity building look like this:

    1. Actions are inspired by pain and pleasure.
    2. Repeated pain and pleasure lead to repeated actions.
    3. Repeated actions lead to habits.
    4. Habits shape your identity.

    “Life made me who I am, and I can’t do anything about it.”

    Intentional living and identity building look like this:

    1. Who do I want to be? What’s my desired identity?
    2. Which habits that would turn me into that person do I not have in place right now?
    3. Which repeated actions that would build that habit am I not currently taking?
    4. Which reactions to pain and pleasure triggers in my life can I change? Which pain and pleasure triggers can I ban out of my life completely?

    “While the past has shaped me, the way I choose to live my life today, tomorrow, and every day after, will determine who I am.”

    You’re living anyway. Your actions are votes for an identity anyway. So you might as well do it intentionally.

  • #345 Why being good isn’t relevant

    People can think you’re not good at writing, and you can still write – and love it.

    You can think you’re not good at writing, and you can still write – and love it.

    You can think you’ll never be good at writing, and you can still write – and love it.

    Because whether you’re good at something or not is nowhere nearly as relevant as how fulfilled it makes you feel.

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