It’s not about content, it’s about consistent content.
It’s not about running, it’s about repeated running.
It’s not about meditating, it’s about many moments of meditating.@
It’s about repeated rehearsal, until you finally get it.
Unique value often lies in seemingly strange combinations.
The beekeeping lawyer.
The pro soccer player with an astrophysics degree.
The theologist waking up early every morning to go surfing.
The public servant spending their evenings performing at the local stand-up comedy bar.
The motorcycle repair shop owner writing philosophy books.
The chess champion with a Brazilian Ju-Jitsu black belt.
Societal pressure and expectations make such combinations unlikely. Out of the ordinary. Maybe even undesirable: an obstacle to conformity.
And if it’s undesirable, it becomes rare.
And here’s the twist: what’s rare usually becomes valuable.
Because there’s nothing incompatible about these combinations – in fact, the skills you practice may well complement each other in unique and valuable ways.
What could be an unexpected complement for your life?
Something you’re secretly interested in, but – according to society – doesn’t fit who you are (or who you’re supposed to be)?
Appreciation arises from contrast.
How can I enjoy food without knowing what it’s like to be hungry?
How can I appreciate the beauty of a painting without comparing it to something I’ve experienced as ugly?
How can I appreciate social connections without being familiar with solitude? (Not loneliness. Solitude.)
Constant connectivity (especially shallow connections through social media apps) without breaks from socializing numbs the whole bonding experience.
Alternating socializing with solitude warms the heart.
Inspired by Cal Newport’s excellent book Digital Minimalism.
Talent: “This is all I can do, no matter what you say.”
Passion and purpose: “Who knows what I could do if I practiced every day?”
Focusing on talent keeps your potential at bay.
Focusing on passion, purpose, and the practice turn every day into play.
This is the way.
If you truly believe you can write every day – not that it is generally possible to write every day, but that YOU can write every day – you would be doing it already.
So if you’re not, ask yourself:
Do you believe YOU can write every day?
If not, why not?
Is it physically impossible for you to write something every day? A page, a paragraph, a sentence… a word?
Deep down, you know the answer to that question.
And now we’ve established you can write every day; what other excuses come up?
That the work won’t be good?
That the words won’t capture what you want to say?
That you’ll disappoint others?
That you’ll disappoint yourself?
Put words to your fears, then ask yourself: what would happen if they all came true?
Would that stop you from writing? Or would it liberate you?
Would you maybe be just fine?
What would it be like to have overcome your fears and still be writing anyway?
Only one way to find out…
Write. Every. Day.
Here’s a useful insight from James Clear, author of Atomic Habits:
Every action you take is a vote for the type of person you wish to become.
https://jamesclear.com/3-2-1/june-4-2020
Writing every day reaffirms my “I’m a writer” identity.
Sitting on the couch every day reaffirms my “I’m a couch potato” identity.
As a consequence: when you change your actions and your identity starts shifting to align with those actions.
And that’s how we get out of a rut.
(The opposite isn’t always true: changing your thoughts without changing your actions will rarely shift your identity. I can think of being a writer as much as I want, if I never put any words on paper, I’m not a writer. That’s one of the principle of cognitive dissonance: Actions overrule Thoughts.)
Here’s how to change your actions and your identity:
Which begs the question…
Where are you saying you want to be a certain way, but you’re voting for something else through your daily actions?
Lukas Van Vyve
Put your money (or your actions) where your mouth is.
A neurotransmitter that once helped us evolve and motivated us to go out and explore the world now has us glued to screens and plates filled with sugary food.
Dopamine tells us not just to eat, but to eat more.
Not just to read a useful article, but click more headlines.
Swipe through more videos and photos.
Watch more episodes on Netflix.
Yet, when I interrupt the dopamine reward loop and resist the need for more, I’m pulled back into the now, and strangely enough, I actually see more. Hear more. Feel more.
Sometimes, to get more, you need to moderate.
