My life, at least from where I stand, is so often paradoxical. I have to wonder if others share the same sentiment, particularly with regard to their own self-improvement and goals. Most lately what sits at the forefront of my mind is that often my best progress is made after I have given up. Of course 'giving up' implies that no more progress would be made, so perhaps it's more of a metaphorical casting-away. If I give something up, I get better at it.
Let me avoid being vague any further. Often I become fixated on a goal, writing for instance, and so I set myself about the goal as any other might. I try and make a practice schedule and stick to it. I read about writing and, in general, read more of everything. I do my best to immerse myself and drive myself forward so that I might make steady strides forward and improve upon my modest skill. Over time schedules, routines, can become hard to maintain. The goal becomes a source of stress, but you know what they say, time and pressure make diamonds. Perhaps I just never let the pressure build enough. I think as a pressure cooker I am woefully inadequate though, as I have myriad holes through which I can not help but lose steam. With that I know I can't make a diamond, I'm not even sure if I could make a good jam.
Then comes the decision to 'give-up'. It's not an inapt description, but it is a bit misleading. I do decide to give up. I do, in my current example, give up my writing schedule, and my focus on reading-up on writing, and additional reading, and all insistence of steady dedicated practice. I can't say that I gave up on the idea of writing but, on the steady pursuit of that goal, I have definitively relinquished control.
Yet for some reason I will always come back to the goals I gave up. I will come back, only with less stress, with less focus on improvement. I come back writing just to write, and somehow make better progress that way. I don't practice as often, I don't stare at a blank page until my brain pretends to start working. I just write when I can and somehow that works. And I don't understand that. I don't understand how dedicated practice can feel like such a standstill, yet make better progress with what feels like dabbling. It's as if dedicated practice is a trudge up a gravel hill with each step losing almost as much progress as you gained. It's not as if I couldn't climb higher that way, but it is so much more tiring. I am confused as to why this seems to be my lot. Fix sights. Strive. Give-up. Improve. In that order.
Let me avoid being vague any further. Often I become fixated on a goal, writing for instance, and so I set myself about the goal as any other might. I try and make a practice schedule and stick to it. I read about writing and, in general, read more of everything. I do my best to immerse myself and drive myself forward so that I might make steady strides forward and improve upon my modest skill. Over time schedules, routines, can become hard to maintain. The goal becomes a source of stress, but you know what they say, time and pressure make diamonds. Perhaps I just never let the pressure build enough. I think as a pressure cooker I am woefully inadequate though, as I have myriad holes through which I can not help but lose steam. With that I know I can't make a diamond, I'm not even sure if I could make a good jam.
Then comes the decision to 'give-up'. It's not an inapt description, but it is a bit misleading. I do decide to give up. I do, in my current example, give up my writing schedule, and my focus on reading-up on writing, and additional reading, and all insistence of steady dedicated practice. I can't say that I gave up on the idea of writing but, on the steady pursuit of that goal, I have definitively relinquished control.
Yet for some reason I will always come back to the goals I gave up. I will come back, only with less stress, with less focus on improvement. I come back writing just to write, and somehow make better progress that way. I don't practice as often, I don't stare at a blank page until my brain pretends to start working. I just write when I can and somehow that works. And I don't understand that. I don't understand how dedicated practice can feel like such a standstill, yet make better progress with what feels like dabbling. It's as if dedicated practice is a trudge up a gravel hill with each step losing almost as much progress as you gained. It's not as if I couldn't climb higher that way, but it is so much more tiring. I am confused as to why this seems to be my lot. Fix sights. Strive. Give-up. Improve. In that order.
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