Yesterday, I had the realization that I’ve been carrying around something since a very young age, and I’m only now feeling the true weight of it, and how much it slows me down.
That space between being prepared and doing the thing is where I create a lot of my own anxiety. Where I make it hard. Where I fall for my reptilian brain interpreting fear as something to avoid at all costs instead of jumping into.
If the bars I set for myself turn into expectations, then no wonder I can’t celebrate clearing them. And even if I set the bar really high for myself (which I know I do), then anything less becomes a failure. It means I define failure as anything less than the absolute best. It means I define success as doing what is expected of me. There is no room for celebration in that equation.
Taking the oars back from my chattering monkey brain, and directing where I want to go.
One second isn't a lot of time. But it's long enough to forget and let the feeling go, instead of holding onto it.
On stopping long enough to savor the moment.
Some words give us confidence and courage. The word “should” is not one of them.