#255 The method to your madness

I could consider myself a writer if I write 20,000 words a day – and I would be right.

Or I could consider myself a writer if I write one sentence a day – and I would be right.

I could consider myself a writer if I’ve written a book – and I would be right.

Or I could consider myself a writer the moment I’ve decided I’m going to be a writer – and I would be right.

I could consider myself a writer if I’ve built up enough self-trust and taken enough daily actions that prove that I genuinely care about being a writer – and I would be right.

Whether you’re aware of them or not, you’re using subjective measuring sticks for everything, usually determined by upbringing, culture, and societal pressure.

But nothing stops you from consciously choosing your measuring sticks (depending on your goals, you could make them easier or more challenging) and setting yourself up for more fulfillment and success.

Here are some questions that can help:

When you say you want to be {successful, happy, fulfilled, fit, wealthy}…

How do you know you’re reaching your goal?

Is it an achievement?

A material possession?

A feeling?

An action you take?

A decision you make?

Choose wisely.

How likely is the scenario you’re worrying about?
And how impactful or life-threatening is that scenario?
Now, how much mental bandwidth is worrying about it taking up?
Are your worries proportionate to the actual danger?
Should you be worrying at all?
If not, could you stop right away?

Of course, you and I both know that’s not always how it works, my friend.

Because even if we know rationally that we shouldn’t worry, the worrier mind tends to scoff at answering rational questions.

Yet today, I had an insight: maybe those questions aren’t meant to dismiss the worrier mind at all but empower the sane mind, temporarily suppressed and overpowered?

Maybe they can provide enough encouragement to make the sane mind stand up for itself again and say, “Enough is enough.”

Maybe that way, the sane mind will put the worrier mind back in its place, reminding it of the only task where it truly shines: protect us from life-threatening risks.

Or maybe not. I don’t know, my friend. You’ve seen me: I’m just another human with good days and bad—productive days and lazy. Days of irrational fears and worry, and days of relaxing, dreaming, and visioning.

But this I do know: worrying too much has never improved my mood, and I doubt it has ever improved yours.

So if you’ve had an overactive worrier mind lately, trying won’t hurt.

Let me know how it goes.

You know you’re a writer when you stop worrying about whether you’ll write or not.

Self-trust always comes first.