Today is your lucky day, my friend.
Or at least, it could be, depending on how you interpret what will happen.
Today is your worst day ever, my friend.
Or at least, it could be, depending on how you interpret what will happen.
The choice is yours. It has always been.
P.S. I don’t know about you, but weirdly enough, being able to decide over your luck didn’t feel like a relief to me at first.
That’s a good topic for another day…
What you focus on right now, in the present moment, strongly affects your state. Focus on problems, you start worrying. Focus on a pleasant prospect, you start dreaming.
To manage state by directing focus, you must be intentional about the type of questions you ask to evaluate your experiences in life because whatever questions you ask yourself (and you DO ask yourself evaluating questions all the time, consciously or subconsciously), your brain is constantly coming up with answers for these questions.
The answers can be accurate or not; that doesn’t matter to your brain. It’ll justify and find answers, reasons, and connections for anything you ask… and through those answers, give meaning to anything that happens to you (and interpret it as painful or pleasurable).
I can’t do this yoga pose – yet.
I can’t speak Spanish – yet.
I can’t keep my attention stable during meditation – yet.
I can’t do this – yet.
(Inspired by The Practice by Seth Godin. Highly recommended.)
When everything is urgent, how do we know what to do first?
One solution is adding more nuance:
What’s the most urgent?
What’s the most important?
Breathing is urgent.
A crying child is urgent.
A toilet visit can be urgent.
Sending that email out tonight right before bed instead of tomorrow, maybe not so much?
Here’s the important question:
If you’re going to prioritize the urgent matters anyway, why stress yourself out by calling everything urgent in the first place?
Making everything urgent devalues truly urgent matters.
Because when everything is urgent, nothing is urgent anymore.
You’ll meet the writer you already are when you start writing.
You’ll discover the writer you could be when you start writing.
And you’ll discover the person you could be when you start finding out what you could do.
If you knew you’d always feel unsatisfied with what you write, would you still let satisfaction play a role in your writing process?
If you knew your writing would always be criticized by others, no matter how good it is, would you still let their criticism determine whether you should publish?
If you’d take the fear that stops you the most and rob it of its power, would you write and publish more?
It’s not possible for you to stop being a writer.
It’s only possible to forget you’re meant to be a writer.
Similary, you’ll never “turn into a writer”.
You reduce resistance until you’ve set free the writer in you.
