When I think about where I am right now compared to where I’d like to be, I realize the gap is a whole lot smaller than I once believed. And closing it, I now see, is a lot more within my control than I once believed.
Because where I’d like to be is not any one particular place. In fact, I could be, in an “ideal” world, sitting in the exact same chair I’m sitting in right now.
Where I’d like to be, instead, is a state, a mode of being, a condition.
When I think about where I’d like to be, the sort of life I’d like to be living right now, compared to where I am, there are two major differences. First, there is the difference of outcome. If you were to ask me what I’d need right now to feel I had it made, I’d tell you, “to be generating a full-time income from my writing.”
But second, and more importantly, there is the difference of input, of habit, of lifestyle. If you were to ask me what my day-to-day would look like in an ideal world, I’d tell you that it’d be to wake up early, naturally, perhaps around 5 or 6 am, and to brew a coffee, and to walk around outside a bit before heading back to wherever it was I would be writing that day, and then write for hours on end, after which I’d get outside and exercise, or surf, or fish, or play some sport, after which I’d take a cold shower and eat some lunch and take a siesta, after which I’d read and write until dinner, after which I’d enjoy an evening stroll, after which I’d return home for a good book and some deep sleep.
(It doesn’t get much better than that, folks.)
The thing is that I could probably be doing something like this with a good bit of my days. But I don’t.
My excuse, of course, is the fact that I’ve got to spend time making money, since writing isn’t making me money yet. But the truth is that I could very easily, if I cut out distractions, both start making money a lot faster than I think and, even more quickly, live a lifestyle very close to this.
I’m called to live like this, you see. Indeed, we all are called to live a certain way. We all know, deep down, what our ideals are.
But we tend to fall short. Very short.
Interestingly, I can almost guarantee for myself—and I’d bet for you too—that I’d achieve the outcome I was after if I fine-tuned my input . . . If I got my day-to-day as close to this ideal I’m so deeply, intuitively aware of as possible.
Because where I’d like to be is, as I said, a condition—a temporary state . . . better said, a series of habits—we’re all a lot closer to the life we’re after than we think. We just don’t know it, mostly because we mistakenly think it’s so far away. Far away enough that we wonder whether we can get there.
I’m writing this post at a time of day I typically never write: in the evening. Because I realized that what I wanted to do more than anything in this particular moment was to write. I realized that I felt, deep down, I’m meant to be writing right now, rather than whatever else I’d normally be doing at this hour.
Moving forward, when done correctly, isn’t hard because of the things you have to do, but because of the things you have to forgo. Because of the risks you must take—though in the grand scheme of things, they’re probably not all that risky, and certainly much less risky than the alternative.
Still, it feels risky to go all in. I know it does. It feels uncomfortable. But that’s only because what habits you had before—those habits, that lifestyle you’ll have to kick if you want to move forward—were coping mechanisms . . .
Ways to make a reality that you weren’t fully committed to, a reality you didn’t fully believe in, more palatable.
You know what you’ve got to do.
That’s all I have to say right now.
Until next time,
RB