First I feel.
Then I learn to categorize those feelings with words – until at some point, I don’t feel sensations anymore. I feel words.
I say I’m angry – but what does being angry feel like again?
I say I’m happy – but which sensations rush through my body?
I say I’m sad – but does sadness always feel the same?
With sensations comes nuance.
Perfectionism is the perfect excuse for not showing up.
If you don’t publish because you’re waiting for the perfect blog post, you’ll hide behind your desk forever – because there’ll always be something you can improve.
If you don’t go for a walk because you’re waiting for the perfect weather, you’ll be stuck forever inside – because there’ll always be a day with more sunshine or a nicer breeze.
If you wait to live the life you desire until you have the perfect age, amount of money, degree, or partner, you’ll wait until it’s too late to enjoy your life in the first place.
If you know things will never be perfect anyway, and you’re not allowed to wait until they’re perfect, or even until they’re “good enough”…
What could you start doing today? What have you been putting off?
Watching a sitcom or soap opera episode takes 20 minutes – and somehow, we always seem to find time for it.
Doing some stretches or a quick workout can take as little as 15 minutes – yet somehow, it’s very hard to find time for it.
Many good habits take take less time than watching a sitcom – and during and after, they’re often quite enjoyable. But our mind makes it so hard to start.
Whenever something that’s good for you feels insurmountable and your mind starts playing tricks on you, put it into perspective.
Doing this thing will take less time than watching a sitcom.
Maybe I could even do it while watching the sitcom.
And doing it will be a vote for the person I want to become.
I don’t care what I write.
I care that I write.
Because only once the daily act of writing isn’t in question anymore, can I start writing what matters.
What do we do when AI can cobble together in seconds essays that take us hours (or days) to write – not even counting years of practice?
Maybe it just raises the bar for us – requiring is to make new work that continues to stand out from AI-generated content.
As things stand, that’s still possible.
But what happens when the bar is set so high that our human brains can’t jump over it anymore, even with a lifetime of practice?
Journaling question of the day: Why am I rushing?
Out of habit and automaticity – mindlessness caused by endless repetition?
Out of discomfort – I want to get out of this situation as soon as possible?
Out of impatience – I expect whatever comes next to be more interesting or riveting?
What would happen if I don’t rush this?
By interrupting the automaticity and slowing down, will I reopen my senses and discover new nuances?
By not rushing away from discomfort, will I discover everything is not as bad as I feared it would be?
By resisting impatience, can I become fascinated with whatever is happening right here, right now?
Your anger is real. But you are not your anger.
Your worries are real. But that doesn’t mean it’s rooted in reality.
You aren’t scared. You feel scared.
You are not your emotions. Emotions are not your identity.
