For all your striving
All your failures and achievements
Have you still not learned
That no matter what you gain or lose
Some desires are there to stay
Because we’re wired to live in pursuit of our dreams
And resisting that journey is not the way?
The Pareto principle states that for many outcomes, roughly 80% of consequences come from 20% of causes (the “vital few”).
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pareto_principle
I’m okay with publishing 80% rubbish if that’s what it takes to stumble upon something good.
But if only 20% of what I publish is any good, and I publish one post a week, then on average, I’ll only publish something insightful once every five weeks.
If I publish once a day, then on average, I’ll publish something insightful more than once a week.
This is why I’m okay with publishing a daily blog post.
It’ also why I write pages and pages of stream-of-consciousness journaling every day, most of it rubbish, whining, scattered thoughts, if that’s what it takes to get to that one insight or breakthrough. Sculpting away, day by day.
Write more rubbish, and you’ll write more good stuff too.
Volume matters.
Writing isn’t hard. Writing every day is – until it isn’t anymore.
That’s when writing becomes hard.
Build the habit, then you get a shot at building the skill.
You don’t have to feel certain to start taking action.
You take action to start feeling certain.
You don’t need to be calm to do yoga.
You do yoga to become calm.
You don’t need to have a quiet mind to meditate.
You meditate to cultivate a quiet mind.
You don’t have to speak Spanish fluently to have a conversation in Spanish.
You have a conversation in Spanish to learn to speak Spanish fluently.
You don’t need to know how to love to start loving someone.
You start loving someone to learn how to love.
And while this chain of causality sounds logical, sometimes the logical things are the hardest to remember.
“Is this really important right now?” I ask myself, as another distraction passes through my head.
I imagine an old wise man, disturbed from his task at hand, looking up.
“No? Can you come back later then, at a more appropriate time? Thank you very much.”
Back to work he goes.
“Is this really a life-threatening event?” I ask myself, as another anxiety-inducing thought intrudes my mind.
I imagine the same old wise man, fending off a harassing distraction.
“No? Can you come back with a message more appropriate to the severity of the event? Thank you very much.”
On with life he goes.
If only it were that easy, my friend.
The distracted, anxious, worried mind tends to fight back. I’m taking the liberty to assume you’ve also noticed that at some point in your life.
Nevertheless, I believe we can, nay, we must fight back.
Not that I’m advocating suppression.
Excited, worried, sanguine, anxious, passionate, defeated: let them have their moment of attention – at the appropriate time.
Maybe it’s all about the art of making all the selves get along?
I imagine the old wise man, who has mastered that art.
I know I’m not that old wise man yet.
But I could be, if I make it a point to practice every day.
And so could you, if you make it a point to practice every day.
If that’s something that’s important to you, of course. That’s for you to decide, in your personal situation and in your personal life.
We naturally move towards pleasure and away from pain – with one exception: painful comfort.
If you’re used to believing that you’re bad at languages, there’s painful comfort in struggling with languages.
If you’re used to negative self-talk, there’s painful comfort in negative self-talk.
If you’re used to working 12-hour days, there’s painful comfort in working 12-hour days.
If you’re used to constant conflict, there’s painful comfort in constant conflict.
If you’re used to neglect, there’s painful comfort in neglect.
Painful comfort is keeping you comfortable AND hurting you.
Years of conditioning have given it an irresistible pull – until you decide to take a leap of faith and start believing that you, too, can change.
Where are you perpetuating painful comfort in life?
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.
