A new phone out of necessity – because the old one broke.
A new phone out of longing for the rush of something new.
A new business idea because changing circumstances have rendered the old business model unviable.
A new business idea because the previous one is progressing slower than I expected, and I’m getting bored.
There are many reasons to embrace novelty. And there are just as many reasons to fight it.
I am tired today.
But I’ll write you something either way, my friend.
Maybe not a full essay.
Maybe just a little wordplay.
But I’ll write you either way.
Why, you say?
Simple.
Because I want this, I want us to be one of those habits that are here to stay.
What are you doing either way because you want it to be one of those habits that are here to stay?
Some days I have ten ideas to write about. Some days, zero.
But when I lack ideas to write about, the ideas aren’t really gone. I’m in a scarcity state: my brain chemistry prevents me from accessing the insights.
When I feel lonely, friends and family I can connect with aren’t really gone. I’m in a scarcity state: my brain chemistry prevents me from connecting with them.
Scarcity is like pollution.
When noise pollution of cars, planes and construction machines drown out the singing of the birds, the birds aren’t really gone. I just can’t hear them.
When light pollution drowns out the stars, they’re not really gone. I just can’t see them.
So how do I get out of scarcity? How do I reduce pollution?
Here’s what works for me:
Notice I’m in scarcity mode. Then move. Meditate. Do stream-of-consciousness journaling.
Then find a place where I hear the birds.
Find a place where I can see the stars.
Write anyway.
And connect with friends and family anyway.
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.
Nothing bad will happen if I don’t write today.
And somehow, that makes me even more likely to write.
When you feel that way about anything you do, you know: that’s the right thing for you.
I can say I want to publish a new book.
Double my income.
Get in shape.
Learn another language.
But hidden beneath the surface of lofty goals are daily actions.
Publishing a book… What does that really mean?
Who is that person who has published the book? (Not just written… actually published?)
What do they say to themselves?
What do they think?
What do they feel?
What do they do every day? And what can I start doing every day to become more of that person who has written that book?
Most importantly, am I willing to take those actions every day to reach whatever goal I’m after?
Am I willing to change?
If not, is that goal even important to me?
Who do I choose to be?
Start small.
Very small.
So small, it might feel silly at first.
For example, if you’ve committed to writing every day, don’t start by aiming to write a thousand words. Start with something you can absolutely, positively achieve.
Maybe that’s writing one sentence. Maybe it’s opening your notebook. Maybe it’s just holding a pen!
Your goal isn’t to produce fantastic prose, but simply to show up and write something.
After all, before it can be about the content, it must be about the consistency.
