If, in defiance of every limiting belief you have about yourself, you started to write every day, and you’re sticking to it, what else can you do that you previously thought impossible?
This is how the world becomes your oyster.
You’re a writer now.
And that means you’re starting to have a shot at being a good writer.
I can believe I’ve published the perfect insight – until I narrate the podcast version a couple of weeks later and suddenly notice subtle typos and, sometimes, logical flaws. The typos and flaws were always there – but did I make a mistake earlier?
I can believe I’ve nailed this yoga pose – until, during one session, I suddenly sense some tension in my neck I had never noticed before. The tension was always there – did I make a mistake earlier?
I can believe I’ve cooked the perfect dish – until one day, I notice that the sauce tastes even better with a little less salt. But, even before I noticed it, the improvement was always there – did I make a mistake earlier?
Maybe learning is not about errors but about gaining ever more subtle awareness.
Change happens when you let go of defective perspectives about who you were, are, and could be.
What you used to do, are doing, and could do.
What’s possible for you, and what’s not.
Whatever your current perspective, it’s defective. Or at least incomplete.
Life is beautifully unpredictable. You are beautifully unpredictable.
I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
It’s hard to predict the perfect moment to write, where the stars align and inspiration strikes.
But you can make sure you’re there for it when it happens.
And the only way to be there for it is to write today, no matter the circumstances.
Because maybe the act of writing today is what makes the stars align.
Trying to become good fast makes you impatient. And impatience may well stop you from ever becoming good in the first place.
Because the only way to become good is by understanding that in today’s practice session, you likely won’t be perfect anyway.
That you likely won’t write your most insightful words.
That you likely won’t run an all-time best.
That you’ll likely spend a large part of your yoga session stumbling and losing balance.
When you go into your practice session with that mindset…
Suddenly it makes sense to focus hard on getting that one sentence right.
Now it makes sense to focus on rhythmic breathing while running instead of pushing for a better time.
Now it makes sense to focus on a tiny part of your body during an entire yoga session to train your awareness instead of trying to chase poses because “they look professional.”
Even if there is not much time to “become good,” it still makes sense to assume there is time.
Because that gives you the freedom to focus on the small adjustments that prepare you for when the time comes, and you truly need to perform.
Since I’m always practicing anyway, I don’t have to be good at this today.
I made an account on Instagram to stay in touch with friends abroad. Now I habitually spend hours a day scrolling through Instagram feeds. Is this a purposeful pursuit?
I started journaling to clear my head. Now I habitually write and publish insights every day. Is this a purposeful pursuit?
Good intentions and purposeful actions inevitably turn into a habit, and that can be a good or a bad thing.
Constantly questioning our actions leads to paralysis.
But once in a while, gaining presence and reaffirming your intentions can be enough to put you back on track.
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.
