1. Keep it simple. Don’t think too hard about it. Want to take a photo? Use your camera phone. Want to journal? Just write one sentence. Progress starts small.
2. Date everything. You’ll be thankful you did when you look back on it in the future.
3. Be as clear as possible. Similar to 2. Don’t assume you’ll remember this moment later – write everything down. Names, places, colours: tell it as if you’re talking to a stranger.
4. Make sure you enjoy doing it. Never do anything you hate.
5. Make it accessible. Make it easy to document your life at any moment. Keep your tools small, simple and something you’d want to have around. Get used to carrying a camera or a journal with you wherever you go.
6. There’s no right way to do it. You can look to others for inspiration but ultimately, it’s up to you. The only “correct” way to do it is the way you’re happy with.
7. Think long-term. 20 years from now, you’ll be glad you started today. The mundane events today might be life-changing in the future. Record it down.
Goldilocks and the Three Bears is a story of getting things just right. In the fable, Goldilocks enters a house and sees three sets of porridge. However, one is too hot and one is too cold – only one is just right. She then comes across three chairs but one is too big and one is too small – only one fits her properly. Finally, she goes upstairs to sleep. There are three beds and – you guessed it – one is too hard and one is too soft. Only one is just right.
Austin Kleon recently took this just right idea and formed The Goldilocks Theory. Instead of porridge, chairs or beds Austin applied this to creativity and suggests that creative work happens when one finds a balance between being too happy to work and too depressed to work. I thought it was brilliant.
Credits: Austin Kleon
This theory rings true from personal experience. When I got my offer for medical school, I was so happy that I didn’t study for my final exams. Life was too good to work. But when the coronavirus lockdown hit and I was forced to study in sub-optimum conditions, I didn’t want to any more. Life was too dull for work.
Perhaps all levels of procrastination can be boiled down to one of these two reasons. On one end, sometimes we’re too happily engrossed in another activity to think of work. We’ll work when this excitement dies down. On the other hand, maybe we’re too anxious and depressed to start anything productive. We’ll work when we’re in a better frame of mind.
This theory is useful because if true, we can catch ourselves when we’re being lazy and ask ourselves: which end on the spectrum am I at right now? Is life too good to work, or too depressing?
But more importantly, we can ask ourselves: is this a problem?Because sometimes, it’s fine to be unproductive. A period of mourning may be the antidote for growth; a period of ecstasy may be a highlight for decades to come. Denying one of their emotional highs and lows to do more work is putting the cart before the horse. Isn’t the ultimate goal of work to feel good?
Anyone who knows war films will know the movie Braveheart, a 3-hour historical epic about the life and sacrifice of a man named William Wallace. The film is based around the overthrow of King Edward in the 13th century and features a lot of fighting, politics and screaming. Classic war stuff, right?
I’ve been asked why I make war movies and I say, “I don’t. I make love stories. I want to know what you love enough to sacrifice your life for.”
When we think of war stories, we usually imagine what’s on the surface; the fighting, blood and the politics. We rarely think that behind all this violence is one of the purest of all emotions: love.
But if you think about it, all conflict is really about love. It’s about what you care enough to stand up for.
A child might love his sweets and yell for it. A teenager might love a cat and sacrifice money for it. A businessman might love power and neglect their health for it. And in perhaps the greatest sacrifice, a soldier might love his country enough to sacrifice their life for it.
War is love: what a strange but beautiful oxymoron.
“Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver (read by Mary Oliver):
You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting – over and over announcing your place in the family of things.
Mary Oliver is an American poet who won the National Book Award and Pulitzer Prize. A standout feature from her poems is the force of nature, rather than the human world, to give meaning and purpose in life. Her writing is simple, filled with natural imagery, and is one of the most influential poets to have lived.
Reading this poem for the first time pushed me to the verge of tears. Here are three takeaways from this short but powerful piece by the late Mary Oliver.
1. Be gentle with yourself
You do not have to be good./ You do not have to walk on your knees/ For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting./ You only have to let the soft animal of your body/ love what it loves.
A restless pursuit of purpose and an innate sense of frustration are two fundamental qualities of the human experience. In times of failure, it is tempting to punish one’s own flaws in the pursuit for moral perfection.
In Wild Geese, Mary Oliver acknowledges this temptation but encourages another approach. With the instruction to …only have to let the soft animal of your body/ love what it loves, Oliver’s message is clear: to turn to nature and follow one’s heart.
Indeed, Oliver’s description of people as soft animals suggests that we simply cannot strive for perfection; that the virtue of life predisposes one to flaws. As Marion Woodman put it, To strive for perfection is to kill love because perfection does not recognize humanity.
2. Nature as steadfast movement
Meanwhile the world goes on./ Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain/ are moving across the landscapes,/ over the prairies and the deep trees,/ the mountains and the rivers.
It’s easy to forget that the world keeps moving even when we stand still.
When I’m bored or tired, I like to go outside and stare at the clouds. It always surprises me how fast the clouds move when you really observe. This practice helps put into perspective where my problems sit in the scope of the Universe and how little they usually matter.
Life and movement is all around us. Perhaps an antidote to the feeling of stagnation and paralysis is to simply surround ourselves with nature – an activity Mary Oliver would undoubtedly encourage.
3. Announcing your place
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,/ the world offers itself to your imagination,/ calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -/ over and over announcing your place/ in the family of things.
Here, Mary Oliver marries the reader to nature. Just as one can hear wild geese calling, so too can we hear the world calling us to explore our creativity and unashamedly share our gifts with the world.
Lastly, the last two lines of …announcing your place/ in the family of things promises that our existence has a role to play in the world. That even though our lives can feel lonely, we can find respite in the grandeur of nature.
I was in Las Vegas for a conference, taking a taxi from the airport to the hotel. I asked the driver, “How long have you lived here?” He said, “Twenty-seven years.” “Wow! A lot has changed since then, huh?” “Yeah. I miss the mob.” “Huh? Really? What do you mean?” “When the mafia ran this town, it was fun. There were only two numbers that mattered: how much was coming in, and how much was going out. As long as there was more in than out, everyone was happy. But then the whole town was bought up by these damn corporations full of MBA weasels micromanaging, trying to maximize the profit from every square foot of floor space. Now the place that used to put ketchup on my hot dogs tells me it’ll be an extra twenty-five cents for ketchup! It sucked all the fun out of this town! Yeah, I miss the mob.”
Sometimes MBA types would ask me, “What’s your growth rate? What’s your retained earnings rate as a percentage of gross? What are your projections?” I’d just say, “I have no idea. I don’t even know what some of that means. I started this as a hobby to help my friends, and that’s the only reason it exists. There’s money in the bank and I’m doing fine, so no worries.” They’d tell me that if I analyzed the business better, I could maximise profitability. Then I’d tell them about the taxi driver in Vegas.
Never forget why you’re really doing what you’re doing. Are you helping people? Are they happy? Are you happy? Are you profitable? Isn’t that enough?
A quote from Leo Tolstoy, quickly emerging as one of my favourite writers of all time:
One of the most widespread superstitions is that every man has his own special, definite qualities; that a man is kind, cruel, wise, stupid, energetic, apathetic, etc. Men are not like that. We may say of man that he is more often kind than cruel, oftener wise than stupid, oftener energetic than apathetic, or the reverse; but it would be false to say of one man that he is kind and wise, of another that he wicked and foolish. And yet we always classify mankind in this way. And this untrue.
Men like like rivers: the water is the same in each, and alike in all; but every river is narrow here, is more rapid there, here slower, there broader, now clear, now cold, now dull, now warm. It is the same with men. Every man carries in himself the germs of every human quality, and sometimes one manifests itself, sometimes another, and the man often becomes unlike himself, while still remaining the same man.
Another three months, another check-in. Here we go with the same questions as usual:
What was good? What wasn’t so good? Goals for the months ahead?
Let’s do it.
The Good
1. Novel Experiences
Close friends of mine will know that a fair amount has happened in the last few months, not all pleasant. I got diagnosed with atypical pneumonia (largely resolved, thankfully). I felt betrayed by a close friend. I’ve forced myself to study and work out when I didn’t really want to (more on that below).
All of this has been fertilizer for growth. Though these experiences were by no means extreme, they were uncomfortable enough to force me out of my comfort zone. And when one is forced to adapt, they often get better.
Here’s to more challenges. Onwards and upwards.
2. Consistency/Accountability
In February, I expressed frustration at my partner for my lack of YouTube videos. I felt like posting more was something I wanted to do but couldn’t muster the discipline to. After some discussion, we entered into an agreement which was this: either I post one YouTube video a month or I have to pay her $200.
Since the agreement, I haven’t missed a video (February, March).
Due to this raging success, I’ve found myself entered into more agreements such as:
Do 50 Anki cards a day or pay $50;
Spend <2 hours per day per week on the iPhone or pay $200;
With a $120 upfront payment, perform 120 sets of upper body workouts at the gym to get $1 back per set.
I used to severely underestimate the power of accountability. It’s easy to think that you’re good enough on your own; that you’re disciplined enough to do what you’re supposed to do, when you’re supposed to do it.
But in times when you’re feeling lazy and just want to be a bum, it’s nice to have someone (and some money) pushing you on. These have been some of my most productive months in my life.
The Bad
1. Procrastination
Despite what I just wrote about accountability, I do find myself slipping into this delusion that I have more time than I really do. This leads to me rushing to do things that I well could’ve done earlier.
For example, these posts are posted close to midnight because I rush to edit them. My last two YouTube videos were posted near the end of the month, having procrastinated on filming. Most of the Anki cards I do are done in the last hour of the day.
The danger with all this is that it gives the illusion that you have time. If I apply this psychology to life generally, I might squander these precious years and hours I have today. As Seneca wrote, the whole future lives in uncertainty: live immediately.
It would be good to build more of a hour-by-hour calendar – something that tells me what I need to do and when to do it by. I used to do this practice more in undergraduate but my neuroticism levels have been frighteningly low this year. Perhaps it’s time to bring it back.
Goals
1. Two YouTube videos a month; 2. Make daily plans; 3. Keep up my accountability challenges.
“I beg you! Be so kind! Just favour me and taste it!” Neighbor, I pray you, do not press me!” Change your mind. Another spoonful; do not waste it; This fish-soup is the thing, ’tis luscious, capital.” “I’ve swallowed now three portions.” “What of that? no matter, Come now, no foolish chatter, Think of your health, and eat it all; “Tis soup indeed, with many a ball As if fine amber beads had hither chanced to fall! Quick eat it, oh! my comrade dearest, Here’s bream, with giblets nice; here’s sturgeon where it’s clearest; Another little morsel? Wife, upon him call!”
Warm-hearted friend Demyan thus urges Phoka keenly, Allows him never respite, smiles serenely. Sweat starts, on Phoka’s face, to gather as might rain, Nevertheless, he lets himself be helped again, Making an effort, though a drear one, Finishes all. “Ah, you’re the sort I love!” Remarks Demyan, “You’re not an appetite above!” “Another little plateful? Come then, oh, my dear one!” But Phoka, hot and red, Though liking fish-soup much, had grown a prey to dread, And, fur cap grasping, painfully gasping, Uprose without delay and fled; And, since, to friend Demyan no word has said.
Author! however blest, because true gifts possessing, If you are prone to wander, many times digressing, And grow by prolix ways distressing, Know that your glorious prose, or transcendental verse Becomes a blight and is then too much fish-soup worse.
Demyan’s Fish Soup is a fable by Russian fabulist and author Ivan Krylov. While the story seems fun and innocent enough, here are some takeaways that are uncovered after further inspection:
1. Beware the overbearers
If you are prone to wander, many times digressing,/ And grow by prolix ways distressing,/ Know that your glorious prose… / Becomes a blight and is then too much fish-soup worse.
It’s often tempting to find something good and want to share it with the world. Wonderful! Everybody has insights worth sharing and they very well should.
But how it’s done really matters. If you push your insights in an overbearing manner, you run the risk of scaring the turtle back into its shell. A person who was willing to hear you out might close off; unable to deal with your pompousness. Even worse, you could hurt someone who would’ve happily gone ahead with your suggestion if not for your mannerisms.
The intent to do right is not enough. The delivery matters.
2.Excess ruins beauty
But Phoka, hot and red, Though liking fish-soup much, had grown a prey to dread,/ And, fur cap grasping, painfully gasping,/ Uprose without delay and fled…
Simple enough, but easy to forget.
Too much of something good isn’t good anymore. Water is good, but too much can drown you. Medications can treat symptoms, but too much leads to iatrogenesis. Social media is fun, but too much can give you with mental scars.
The dose matters.
3. Say “No” early
Sweat starts, on Phoka’s face, to gather as might rain,/ Nevertheless, he lets himself be helped again,/ Making an effort, though a drear one, Finishes all...
Perhaps the saddest part of this story is that everything could’ve been avoided if Phoka just stood up for himself and said, “No dammit, I won’t have any more soup!”. Phoka knew that he had enough but he let himself get swept along anyway.
When you get the feeling that something isn’t quite right, it can be tempting to brush it aside. The justifications are endless; perhaps it’s too much effort to say no, or it would make the situation awkward, or the sunk costs are just too much.
Yet, I have a feeling that Ivan Krylov wanted to leave this story with us as a warning: to either defend yourself and confront immediate discomfort, or to let yourself go and face the consequences of a far greater danger.
When embarking on a new ambition or task, the goal to reach everybody is alluring. But often, just reaching enough people is fine; reaching everybody would be a pointless and exhausting ordeal. Here are some examples.
In public health, you don’t need everyone to be vaccinated against a disease. You only need to reach herd immunity for the population to be safe.
In business, you don’t need to sell to everyone. You only need to serve enough people who will buy your product to be profitable.
In friendships, you don’t need to please everyone. You only need enough friends to make you feel heard and accepted.
In many domains, the question isn’t how can I maximise my reach? but rather, what is enough, and how can I best serve these people?
The vast majority of our emotional and spiritual suffering comes from the violent collision between our expectations and reality. And in the aftermath, broken and bruised, we further torture ourselves by screaming at the world; outraged at how reality dared defy what we demanded of it.
Recently, I was deeply wounded by a close friend. I’ll keep this person anonymous and the details hidden but it was one of the most hurtful and disorienting periods of my existence. This injustice has darkened my painting of the world, now botched with disappointment and resentment. My faith in human relationships – a force I once trusted so strongly – has begun to crumble.
But perhaps the most infuriating reflection is that this disappointment is not to be blamed on the failure of the other, but on my own powers of reason; that had I aligned my expectations closer to reality, this anguish could be avoided and even expected. From Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations:
You’ll find that none of the people who make you lose your temper has done anything that might affect your mind for the worse; and outside of the mind there’s nothing that is truly detrimental or harmful for you… After all, you even had the resources, in the form of your ability to think rationally, to appreciate that he was likely to commit that fault, yet you forgot it and are now surprised that he did exactly that.
I guess the antidote now is slow and gentle progress; to use this experience as spiritual windscreen wipers and be reminded that the project of seeing clearly – a lifelong endeavour – is the greatest defense against emotional anguish.
