#259 What dictates your day
A rough morning doesn’t mean a rough day – but it could.
A pleasant morning doesn’t mean a pleasant day – but it could.
A rough morning doesn’t mean a rough day – but it could.
A pleasant morning doesn’t mean a pleasant day – but it could.
Sometimes I ask myself if you are asking yourself why I write you a short note every day, my friend.
Maybe I’m giving myself too much credit, and you’ve never asked yourself that question.
But I will answer it anyway, so let’s pretend you have.
Here’s the socially acceptable answer: for more than 200 days, I’ve been writing you a short note every day to remind you to make intelligent decisions about your life and who you want to be.
But as so often with us humans, the honest answer is more self-centered: I write you a short note every day to remind myself to make intelligent decisions about my life and who I want to be.
The fact that some insights are helpful to you is a nice bonus. But I would also write them if you have yet to read a single one of these insights.
Because to me, writing every day is a rallying cry for myself in an invisible battle that nobody might ever see – because it only exists in my head.
A battle against frustration, giving up, limiting beliefs, and a cage of social conditioning from which it’s hard to break free.
A battle to become who I’ve always wanted to be.
Yes, every note I write to you, my friend, is outward proof of a tiny inner victory, taking tiny steps towards more self-trust and fulfillment.
You may tell me I don’t have anything to prove to anyone, especially not myself.
And you may be right.
But I also know that we all have our battles to fight.
Battles about what we believe we deserve or not.
What we think we can do or not.
What we believe is possible for us or not.
What we desire.
Who we can be.
So while you might not be asking yourself why I write you something every day, I am asking myself which battles you are fighting.
I am looking for outward proof of your inner victories.
Whatever they are, when you shine a light on your invisible battles, I’ll be here to cheer you on.
You’re not defined by the saint you wish to be someday.
Nor by the sinner you used to be back in the day.
You’re defined by the actions you decide to take today.
And tomorrow.
And the day after.
But mainly right now. Today.
First I decide to write every day.
That one decision liberates me of the burden of a daily decision: should I write or not?
After all, the decision has already been made, and now is not the time to negotiate.
True freedom is freedom from the burden of making the same decisions over and over again.
Because a decision turns into a constraint.
A constraint turns into the freedom to do what matters.
And when you do what matters, you become who you want to be.
You feel excitement. Happiness. Anger. Sadness.
But you are not your excitement or happiness.
Because if you allow yourself to cling to the emotions you desire, you’ll have not choice but to identify with undesirable ones, like anger and sadness, too.
Thus, you feel excitement – until it fades.
You feel happiness – until it fades.
You feel anger – until it fades.
You feel sadness – until it fades.
No matter which emotion rises, feel it until it fades. You’re going to be fine either way.
When the best story in the world has already been written… why do I write?
Because writing is not a choice – and neither is telling stories.
Because stories are never finished.
Because the best stories in the world are written over and over again.
Because a story well-told depends on who you’re telling it to.
Because we all tell the same stories anyway, but that one little change, that one new interpretation can make the difference between touching someone or missing the mark.
But what IS the best story in the world?
I don’t know.
I do know they don’t have to be very elaborate to have impact:
For sale: baby shoes, never worn.
Ernest Hemingway
When someone, sometime, stumbled upon six words that can evoke so much… How can I NOT continue my own search for stories and the words to tell them?
P.S.: Credits to Jony Mitchell for writing the best song in the world.
P.P.S: Extra credits for singing the most heartfelt version even after suffering a stroke and having to relearn to talk and sing.
P.P.P.S.: Credits to The Tallest Man on Earth for showing that a new interpretation can make even the best song in the world reach new heights, and providing the inspiration for this post.
For all the languages I’ve learned
trying in vain to put the inner and outer world into words
closely but not completely capturing the essence
I now realize the biggest insights reveal themselves
where words are worthless and feelings reign
where they are felt and lived, embodied,
refusing to be rationalized, categorized
or undergo the violent limitations of our words.
Maybe language learning is more about admitting that some languages are lived, not learned.
That some insights are felt, not expressed.
That sometimes words create distance from what we experience deep down, instead of offering the clarity we seek.
Accepting that may well be the biggest challenge of all.
There is a voice that doesn’t use words. Listen.
Rumi