When you need to do it every day
there just is no other way
you’re developing a habit, but it could still fade away.
When you don’t need to do it every day
and you trust you’ll stay on track anyway
you know the habit is here to stay.
I can’t predict what will happen tomorrow – or even today.
But I do know that today, I resolve to write.
And tomorrow I resolve to write once again.
And that resolve has brought me to 439 consecutive days of writing.
439 days of writing, despite living in an unpredictable world.
439 days of realizing most obstacles are excuses.
439 days of proving that resolve can bring you pretty far.
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.
A voice in my head says I can’t write every day?
I’ll write 2 sentences every day, just to prove to that voice that I, in fact, CAN write every day.
A voice in my head says I don’t have the perseverance to train for (and then finish) a marathon?
I’ll do something small to prepare for the marathon every day, so at the end of each day, I can say to myself “The proof is there, today was another day of me persevering and preparing for a marathon.”
You can’t brute-force your way out of an “I can’t do this” belief. You can only take small actions that start proving the contrary.
Slowly but surely, you chip away at the credibility of the naysayer voice, until the scale starts tipping over, and an encouraging voice emerges.
Appreciation arises from contrast.
How can I enjoy food without knowing what it’s like to be hungry?
How can I appreciate the beauty of a painting without comparing it to something I’ve experienced as ugly?
How can I appreciate social connections without being familiar with solitude? (Not loneliness. Solitude.)
Constant connectivity (especially shallow connections through social media apps) without breaks from socializing numbs the whole bonding experience.
Alternating socializing with solitude warms the heart.
Inspired by Cal Newport’s excellent book Digital Minimalism.
You’ve got a pen. You’ve got paper. A phone. And a computer.
Go write.
Because despite what your mind may try to tell you, the little that’s needed to be a writer is never truly out of reach.
Getting worked up about traffic jams is not pleasant, but it’s predictable. And addictive.
So is giving up on writing a book, quitting a workout regime, and re-living any conflict or failure.
Not pleasant. But predictable.
This is how you’ve always felt. And this is how you’ll always feel – unless you become aware of the unpleasant, predictable, addictive patterns and decide to act differently.
Not only once, not twice, but every time you become aware of the pattern until you’ve built enough self-trust that you know the unpleasant predictable events aren’t inevitable.
