When you know you are not the words you write, you can write more freely.
When you know you are not the time you run in your marathon, you can run more freely.
When you know you are not your pain, you can let it be the without thinking it’ll never go away.
And when you know you are not your love either, you can enjoy it fully without being afraid to lose it.
Left? Right? Give up? Keep going? Turn back?
Maybe I’ll end up where I must end up, no matter what I decide.
Maybe the flow of life will show me where to go.
What do we do when AI can cobble together in seconds essays that take us hours (or days) to write – not even counting years of practice?
Maybe it just raises the bar for us – requiring is to make new work that continues to stand out from AI-generated content.
As things stand, that’s still possible.
But what happens when the bar is set so high that our human brains can’t jump over it anymore, even with a lifetime of practice?
The ideas that are hardest to write about are the ideas worth writing about.
The thoughts that are hardest to explain are the thoughts worth explaining.
The feelings that are hardest to express are the feelings worth expressing.
I write every day, because I can. And so can you.
I don’t run every day, even though I could. And so could you.
Whether our mind allows us to see it or not, we always can.
We always have the time.
Over the years, I’ve become quite skilled at letting present worries overshadow past triumphs.
But what would it be like to let past triumphs overshadow present worries?
And what would it be like to have present triumphs overshadow past worries?
Maybe you know better than me, my friend. Or maybe it’s something you’d like to practice too.
Here’s a journal prompt to get us started:
What’s a forgotten accomplishment from your past that once filled you with pride but has since slipped away from your thoughts?
If I don’t write the post I intended to write, I actively avoid the desired result of my writing.
If I don’t do the workout I intended to do, I actively avoid the desired result of my workout (being in better shape, running a new PR,…)
If I don’t have the difficult conversation I intended to have, I actively avoid the desired result of that conversation.
Inaction is not the lack of action.
Inaction is taking active action to avoid working towards the result you desire.
The real question, then, is:
Why do I actively avoid working toward a desired result?
Am I worried that even if I write daily, I’ll never become a skilled writer?
Am I worried I won’t enjoy writing anymore if I ever get recognition?
Am I worried that writing every day will turn me into a skilled writer, but being a professional writer won’t be fulfilling?
P.S. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that I only have a limited repertoire of examples in this newsletter, my friend
I trust you to apply the insight to your situation.
And maybe, when you’re pondering the question above, you’ll come to the same conclusion as me:
That more often than not, I’m more interested in the comfort of “wanting” something I don’t have than in “taking action to get something.”
