When the going gets tough
When I bite the dust
Trust I must
Trust I must
That the purpose I feel inside
The calling from which I can no longer hide
Is a reliable guide
Trust I must
That the vision I hold dear
Is enough to conquer my fear
and persevere
Trust I must
That the words I say
The actions I take every day
Won’t lead me astray
Trust I must
That I am not alone
And that this calling
Will bring me home
Trust I must
Every day
That this is the path
This is my way
Wisdom doesn’t come from experience. It comes from reflecting on experience.
— Adam Grant (@AdamMGrant) December 11, 2022
Between ages 25 and 75, the correlation between age and wisdom is zero.
Gaining insight and perspective is not about the number of years you've lived. It's about the number of lessons you've learned. pic.twitter.com/8wbKsCMkED
Memory isn’t an objective account of the past – and that’s not its purpose either.
Memory stores the lessons we extract from life experience. And to do so, it modifies, adds, subtracts, highlights, and hides.
Hot soup burns my tongue – next time, I’ll remember the pain, but not if it was tomato soup or chicken soup. And I’ll remember to wait a couple of minutes before having the first spoon.
Experience lived. Irrelevant info deleted. Lesson learned. Memory created.
My country gets invaded – and that causes so much pain, I won’t just deliver an objective account of what happened: I’ll make sure to tell everyone who the evil guys are too.
Experience lived. Story modified. Lesson learned. Memory created.
I eat the most delicious dessert at a Mexico City restaurant – that’s the memory I’m going to tell my friends about, not which glass of dessert wine I had with it.
Experience lived. Dessert highlighted. Lesson learned. Memory created.
You’re going to make memories anyway. Which lessons do you want to learn?
If I start learning a new language, I don’t aim to be good.
My only goal: integrate a daily language learning habit into my day, as a habit container, without much regard for progress.
Only when the habit container is in place, and I have built trust of completion (“Now I am the person who spends some time learning a language every single day”), the question becomes: which activities will build my skills most quickly?
I could use my language learning habit container to learn a word a day – but that won’t help me much when speaking.
Within the exact same habit container, I could also learn a chunk a day (a phrase), which I can use in conversations right away. Same habit container, same time investment, but better results.
Within my “writing habit container”, I can write something in a private notebook every day – which is an excellent habit.
But within that same container, I could also start publishing a short article every day. That changes the game.
Don’t try to be good when building the habit. First build the habit container. Once it’s in place, you can start optimizing the actions you take within that container.
First build trust in completion. Then build trust in skill.
In other words: first I become good at learning a language every day. Then I become good at learning a language.
You’ll heal in due time.
You’ll succeed in due time.
Everything will happen in due time.
Unfortunately, we don’t get to decide what due time is.
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.
Every time I commit to do something and then follow through, I’m building self-trust in my ability to persevere (because actions overrule thoughts).
Now here’s the pitfall: the action you commit to doesn’t have to be grand or impressive for you to build trust.
There’s only one thing that matters: commit, then follow through.
I set out to meditate 30 seconds today – and I follow through? I’m building self-trust. I’m a meditator now.
I set out to write one sentence – and I actually write one sentence? I’m building self-trust. I’m a writer now.
I set out to do one push-up – and I do one push-up? I’m building self-trust. I’m an exerciser now.
Such tiny actions might not make a huge difference in your skill level, but that’s irrelevant. You’re not building skill (yet). You’re building self-trust by making commitments, then following through.
Once you trust yourself to follow through, you can start thinking about skill. That’s the flow of skill- and habit-building.
So… first things first. Commit to a tiny action. Follow through. Build self-trust and self-esteem.
The magic is in the Tiny Trust Builders.
If you’re curious about one topic, you can stay curious, even if your interests change over time.
If you’re kind to one person, you can stay kind when talking to other people.
If you showed leadership in your last job, you can show leadership in your new job.
You can be consistent in how you do things, without having to be consistent in what you do.
