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?
If I don’t write the post I intended to write, I actively avoid the desired result of my writing.
If I don’t do the workout I intended to do, I actively avoid the desired result of my workout (being in better shape, running a new PR,…)
If I don’t have the difficult conversation I intended to have, I actively avoid the desired result of that conversation.
Inaction is not the lack of action.
Inaction is taking active action to avoid working towards the result you desire.
The real question, then, is:
Why do I actively avoid working toward a desired result?
Am I worried that even if I write daily, I’ll never become a skilled writer?
Am I worried I won’t enjoy writing anymore if I ever get recognition?
Am I worried that writing every day will turn me into a skilled writer, but being a professional writer won’t be fulfilling?
P.S. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that I only have a limited repertoire of examples in this newsletter, my friend
I trust you to apply the insight to your situation.
And maybe, when you’re pondering the question above, you’ll come to the same conclusion as me:
That more often than not, I’m more interested in the comfort of “wanting” something I don’t have than in “taking action to get something.”
You know I like word games, my friend.
Let’s play with mistakes today.
I don’t like that word—such a negative emotional charge.
And what’s the opposite of a mistake, anyway?
We have a word for doing things wrong, but not for doing things right?
Could we call mistakes lessons?
Bleh, so bland. Heard that a million times before.
What about misguided actions?
Better. Actions that guide me away from my intended outcome. And after a misguided action, I adjust my strategy. I course-correct. Until I get it right and take… guided action?
We’re not there yet. But guided and misguided actions… I don’t know about you, my friend, but to me, that’s going in the right direction.
A bit like traction and distraction.
But that’s a word game for another day.
Try to hold me back. Put obstacles in my way. Do whatever you want. But this new habit is here to stay.
Good things happen when you say those words to the world.
Even better things happen when you say those exact same words to yourself.
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?”
Getting better at something isn’t about making no mistakes.
It’s not even about making fewer mistakes.
It’s about repeating fewer rookie mistakes, so there’s space for you to notice more subtle errors.
If you think you’re making fewer mistakes, you’re either not progressing past your current skill level, or you’re not paying attention.
When I write, I write.
When I practice yoga, I practice yoga.
When I talk with friends, I talk with friends.
Or at least, I wish it were like that.
Because you and I both know how distracted the mind can be, my friend.
You don’t even need to meditate to figure that out.
So the mind needs a reminder once in a while.
“What’s truly important right now?”
I’ll be practicing every day.
