I can believe I must understand the theory before I engage in practice, or I can believe that theory makes more sense when it explains my practice.
Theory and practice are partners, and more often than not, it should be practice that leads the dance.
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?
Over the years, I’ve become quite skilled at letting present worries overshadow past triumphs.
But what would it be like to let past triumphs overshadow present worries?
And what would it be like to have present triumphs overshadow past worries?
Maybe you know better than me, my friend. Or maybe it’s something you’d like to practice too.
Here’s a journal prompt to get us started:
What’s a forgotten accomplishment from your past that once filled you with pride but has since slipped away from your thoughts?
If you wouldn’t see overwhelming results in your first 30 days of writing, working out, dieting, or learning an instrument, would you still show up?
Are you okay with small, almost invisible gains because the process of learning, creating, practicing is fulfilling enough in itself?
And if not, could you be okay with that, if you knew it was the key to learning or creating anything you ever wanted?
It’s easy to be non-violent when you’re in a flower garden
Josh Waitzkin – The art of learning
It’s easy to be kind to others when the world has always been kind to you.
It’s easy to say you want to be a writer when you never really put yourself out there to prove it.
To learn writing, I must confront the uncomfortable parts of writing – and learn not to respond by running away from it.
To learn non-violence, I must confront violence – and learn not to respond with violence in return.
To learn kindness, I must confront being hurt – and learn not to use that as an excuse to perpetuate the cycle of hurt.
To build trust in myself, I must stay true to my values under difficult conditions.
Giving up on your intentions once doesn’t mean you’ll always give up.
Quitting a workout routine or diet once doesn’t mean you’re doomed forever.
Giving one clumsy speech doesn’t mean you’re a bad public speaker forever.
Learning from the past is good. But predicting the future based on a small set of isolated past experiences is overcalibration.
When you write 50 pages a day, only to be forced to recover for a month.
When you start running 5 miles a day without any preparation, only to end up injured.
When you start studying a language for 5 hours a day, only to give up after a week.
When you fly so close to the sun, your wings melt.
When intensity and excitement radiate too brightly, and the reality of life suddenly slaps you in the face.
That’s when you start appreciating the slow, steady flame of consistency that burns long and becomes brighter over time.
And that’s when you’ll see lasting change.
