The future I want to see affects the present I create.
And so does the future I don’t want to see.
Do I let fear of what could go wrong reign my day?
Or excitement about what could be?
Whatever I choose, I may well end up proving myself right.
To become consistent, you have to go beyond wanting. You have to need it.
It’s not about figuring out where you’d like to end up – it’s about deciding where you must go.
It’s about creating a driving force within yourself.
A commitment so strong that you can’t ignore it anymore.
Admiring (flawed) early work is easy when we already know the late work is going to be great.
Everyone forgives Picasso or Da Vinci for a lousy early sketch. In fact, people pay good money to hang one in their living room.
Maybe the early work, showing that even the greats are mere mortals on a journey towards excellence, is the most valuable?
And yet, it’s much harder to be gentle on a beginning artist for shipping mediocre creative work – not in the least for the beginning artist themselves – when their path to excellence hasn’t unfolded yet.
After all, something that one day will be “my early work” is still “my current best work” today.
The road to excellence is invisible from the trenches.
But that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.
Which makes me wonder…
When I know that through persistence and daily practice, one day, I’ll look back on today’s creation, smiling, thinking: “Oh how far I’ve come… How much I’ve learned… And some of this was actually pretty good…”
Can I admire my creative work less for what it looks, feels, or sounds like, and more for who I’m becoming through making it?
Can I do the same for the creative projects of others?
With that mindset… How much easier and forgiving would the daily creative journey be?
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.
When the going gets tough
When I bite the dust
Trust I must
Trust I must
That the purpose I feel inside
The calling from which I can no longer hide
Is a reliable guide
Trust I must
That the vision I hold dear
Is enough to conquer my fear
and persevere
Trust I must
That the words I say
The actions I take every day
Won’t lead me astray
Trust I must
That I am not alone
And that this calling
Will bring me home
Trust I must
Every day
That this is the path
This is my way
You may decide to change path in the spur of a moment.
But to keep moving in that new direction, you’ll have to reaffirm your decision many times.
Day by day, taking actions that pave the new path.
Day by day, making decisions that keep you on the new path.
Day by day.
Step by step.
Until the new path isn’t the new path anymore, but just the path.
Overgeneralization: I failed to stick to a new habit once, so I’ll always give up.
Undergeneralization: Even though I’ve been writing consistently for months, I’m still expecting the day I’ll finally give up again.
Both are manifestations of self-sabotage and perpetuations of a negative self-image.
The only way out: don’t focus on habits, focus on Tiny Trust Builders.
Let your actions be a vote for who you want to be.
Let your actions overrule your thoughts.
Let your actions change your identity.
One day at a time.
