Writing is hard – but I’d love to be a writer, so I write.
Painting is hard – and I wouldn’t love being a painter, so I don’t paint.
Some things are worth the struggle and sacrifice for me – and maybe not for you.
Some things are worth the struggle and sacrifice for you – and maybe not for me.
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)?
Your best writing can only happen when you’re writing.
Your running PR can only happen when you’re running.
And your most cherished moments with friends can only happen when you’re with your friends.
You can try to time life.
But the only foolproof way to live your best moments do is by showing up in the moment.
“What am I meant to do?” I often wonder.
You may have the same question on your mind.
Or maybe you don’t think about it at all, my friend. And perhaps that’s the better choice.
The search for purpose may not be about finding that one grand mission.
Maybe it’s about creating tiny ripples of influence right where we are with what we have.
Maybe the right question is, “What am I meant to do today?”
That way, we make each day matter in ways big and small.
Because these are the days we live anyway.
Every day in which I write, I build my body of work.
As I build my body of work, I also build a hierarchy of quality.
Because every day, my writing will be slightly better or worse than the day before.
That means that the more I write, comparatively, the more good writing I’ll do.
It also means that the more I write, comparatively, the more bad writing I do.
Both are necessary.
Good writing, to feel progress.
Bad writing, to know what good writing looks and feels like in the first place.
It’s all part of the process.
My journey to overcoming self-doubt as a writer:
In short: write and publish to overcome the fear of writing and publishing. Yes, it can be as simple as that.
All of humanity’s problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone
Blaise Pascal, https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/19682-all-of-humanity-s-problems-stem-from-man-s-inability-to-sit
We often equate sitting quietly in a room alone with loneliness: a word with a negative emotional charge.
But sitting quietly in a room can also bring solitude: the simple state of being by yourself, without any negative connotation.
Solitude can give relief of the pressure to be constantly “socializing” (through social media apps or in real life).
Relief of the pressure to socialize can make space.
Space you can use to hear the thoughts in your head and the feelings in your body.
Thoughts and feelings that can tell you what’s truly important to you.
And then you realize that what’s truly important to you is nothing new.
It’s something you already knew, before you learned not to listen.
