The limiting thought is not, “I can’t write.”’
It’s not, “I always give up.”
It’s not, “I don’t have time.”
The limiting thought is, “What if, despite all my own naysaying, I DO follow through? Can I take the fact that it’ll disrupt my entire narrative and self-image?”
When everyone starts using AI chatbots to write, but the insights inside your body and mind scream to be poured on the page – writing is not a choice.
When everyone dreads yet another practice session, but you know running the same route for the millionth time is all it takes to make you feel alive – running is not a choice.
When you’ve tripped over the same bar a thousand times, but you know the release of getting it right will energize you for days to come – playing the guitar is not a choice.
When your big vision has been rejected over and over again, but you know you will not rest until you’ve brought your life-changing ideas to the world – being an entrepreneur is not a choice.
When what drains others is your lifeblood, deep inside, you know life leaves you no other choice.
Because life is all about passion.
Passion is about a lifetime of practice.
A lifetime of practice becomes your identity.
And your identity is what makes you put your heart on the line.
All behavior is inspired by avoiding pain or gaining pleasure – and since you usually act on what your brain perceives as the most intense of the two.
So if you think you desire something, but then “sabotage” yourself so you never get what you desire, that means you have mixed feelings about desire (and thus inner conflict): deep down, you feel that desire will give you more pain than pleasure.
In other words, it’s not self-sabotage: it’s your brain protecting you from pain it perceives as stronger than the pleasure you might get from reaching your goal.
Maybe you desire more money, but deep down, you feel money will corrupt you, or make you lose friends, make you feel guilty, or make you lose your drive.
Maybe you have a desire to write or create, but you feel the pain of judgment or rejection is stronger than the pleasure of creating.
Maybe you want to get in shape, but deep down, you feel you’ll give up anyway before reaching any meaningful results, so you’d rather save yourself the pain of future disappointment (a classic self-trust problem).
Maybe you notice a certain destructive pattern in your relationships, but you believe going to therapy and “opening up that can of worms” will be even worse than perpetuating the current situation.
If you keep sabotaging yourself, it might be worth to ask yourself the question: what pain am I avoiding? What am I afraid of? In my imagination, what’s going to happen when I reach my goal; both positive AND negative?
Or even better than just asking: journal about it.
Go slow, slow, slow
Until all the friction has dissolved
Life is back in flow
Then let go.
Almost broke the chain today.
Then I remembered:
“We must all suffer from one of two pains: the pain of discipline or the pain of regret. The difference is discipline weighs ounces while regret weighs tons.”
Jim Rohn
Nothing builds more trust than daily practice, back to back.
Today, remembering that is more than enough.
I’m back on track.
Nobody says you have to be a workaholic to be ambitious.
Because ambition means nothing more than having a strong desire to succeed.
You can desire to succeed in getting a promotion, or writing a bestselling book.
Or you can desire to succeed in working only part-time, and spend the rest of the time with your family.
You’re free to decide for yourself what to be ambitious about.
If writing and creating every day were as vital to my survival as drinking water, ingesting food, and bonding… What would life look like?
Biologically, all behavior is driven by pain, pleasure, and the triggers and habits that come from repeated reaction to those stimuli.
So I eat because I want to escape the pain of hunger – or heartbreak, sadness, and frustration.
I connect with others because I’m neurologically hardwired to feel pleasure when bonding… and pain and deprivation when I’m abandoned.
Similarly, I write because I want to escape the frustration of not being able to put into words an insight.
I also write because I enjoy the rush resulting from finding the words that convey what I want to say.
I write because I love the tingling in my back and neck when I combine those words into sentences with just the right rhythm, just the right cadence capturing the meaning, context, emotion of what I want to say…
I write because writing wrests the essence from the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions racing through my mind and body.
I write because when when I write, I feel that at last, I can make sense of life.
And the more meaning I find, the more likely I am to write.
