You’ve spent your lifetime bumping into the limits of what you deem possible.
And you’ve also spent your lifetime overcoming the seemingly impossible.
Sit. Crawl. Walk. Speak. Read. Find love. Get over loss and heartbreak. Travel. Invent. Create. Learn. Write.
Overcoming the seemingly impossible is what makes you you.
Once you accept that, the question shifts from, “What’s possible for me?” to, “What are you overcoming next?”
Intellectually understanding that the perfect speech includes a strong opening, humor, a dramatic demonstration, rhetorical elements, and emotional appeal doesn’t mean your next speech will contain those elements right away – and that’s okay.
You don’t have to master this today.
Intellectually understanding the nuances and body positioning of a yoga pose doesn’t mean the next time you stand in that pose, you’ll perform it perfectly right away – and that’s okay.
You don’t have to master this today.
Intellectually understanding verbs, tenses, or case systems in a foreign language doesn’t mean you’ll be able to use them correctly in conversations right away – and that’s okay.
You don’t have to master this today.
Turning intellectual understanding into internalized knowledge and skill is a slow, layered process:
You’re ahead of your time.
You’ll always be behind.
And you’re right where you’re supposed to be.
Writing, running, work, relationships… No matter how you feel today, these three statements are all true, all at the same time, for everything you do.
Now we’ve got that out of the way, you can continue to do the work.
The path toward self-awareness isn’t always pleasant.
Take yesterday, when I realized that in many cases, I’m more interested in the comfort of “wanting” something I don’t have than in “taking action to get something.”
That unappealing realization triggered a cascade of even more unappealing questions.
Would I rather mess around with small blog posts instead of becoming a skilled writer crafting coherent arguments?
Would I rather learn about a million different strategies to grow a newsletter instead of actually spreading the word and getting more people to read my newsletter?
Would I rather learn how to learn a language than actually learn a new language?
Is the frustration of unrealized potential also a huge source of comfort in my life?
I’m not sure if I should be happy with that realization.
Maybe realizations aren’t even supposed to make me happy.
But even if they were, it doesn’t matter.
Because look: here I am, writing another insight about it.
Another Tiny Trust Builder, proving that every day, I am one step closer to renouncing my citizenship of the United States of “If I wanted, I could.”
Another reminder to myself and you, my friend, one I’ll repeat until the bitter end: actions overrule thoughts.
Unintentional choices. Unintentional actions. Unintentional behaviors. Fickle results. Fickle habits.
Intentional choices. Intentional actions. Intentional behaviors. Desirable results. Desirable habits.
To get desirable results and habits, we must first make the unconscious conscious, and the unintentional intentional, .
You see how few things you have to do to live a satisfying and reverent life?
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
But what are those few things that lead to a satisfying life?
Do we decide ourselves, or let others – or society – decide for us?
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.
