You won’t feel that you’re getting addicted to social media when you scroll through feeds on your smartphone every day. But you are.
You also won’t feel that you’re becoming a writer when you write just 1 minute a day. But you are.
You’re always on track to doing something or becoming someone. But rarely will it feel that way in the day to day.
Choose wisely.
Admiring (flawed) early work is easy when we already know the late work is going to be great.
Everyone forgives Picasso or Da Vinci for a lousy early sketch. In fact, people pay good money to hang one in their living room.
Maybe the early work, showing that even the greats are mere mortals on a journey towards excellence, is the most valuable?
And yet, it’s much harder to be gentle on a beginning artist for shipping mediocre creative work – not in the least for the beginning artist themselves – when their path to excellence hasn’t unfolded yet.
After all, something that one day will be “my early work” is still “my current best work” today.
The road to excellence is invisible from the trenches.
But that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.
Which makes me wonder…
When I know that through persistence and daily practice, one day, I’ll look back on today’s creation, smiling, thinking: “Oh how far I’ve come… How much I’ve learned… And some of this was actually pretty good…”
Can I admire my creative work less for what it looks, feels, or sounds like, and more for who I’m becoming through making it?
Can I do the same for the creative projects of others?
With that mindset… How much easier and forgiving would the daily creative journey be?
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.
Am I doing this because of who I want to be? Or in spite of who I want to be?
Do I act a certain way automatically?
Who or what made me believe it’s a necessity?
Do I even know who I want to be?
Questions that lead to intentional living.
There’s nothing wrong with striving for excellence when you’re passionate about something.
But being passionate doesn’t come with an obligation to be – or even try to become – good.
It’s fine to write for the sake of writing, not to write a bestseller novel.
Paint for the sake of painting, not to be the next Picasso.
Run for the sake of running, not to finish a marathon.
I don’t need to be good at this today.
And some things I just never need to be good at.
You always have a choice.
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.
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.
