This morning when I sat down to write today’s tip and found myself at a loss for ideas, I did what I normally do in that situation: I spent some time skimming through my usual sources of inspiration.
Those sources include books I’ve read, manuals from courses I’ve completed, research review articles from a paid subscription service I use, and a few free weekly newsletters I receive.
One of those newsletters comes from Michael Easter. (If you don’t recognize the name, he’s the author of The Comfort Crisis and Scarcity Brain.) I read his free email that comes out on Mondays, and he also writes two others each week—on Wednesday and Friday—for paid subscribers.
As I scanned through yesterday’s message about a “push-up + squat = screen time” challenge over the holidays, the antagonistic part of my mind spun off in a different direction:
How does he put out so much content every week?
Where does he come up with all these ideas?
How does he find the time to interview all the people he does?
And why do I sometimes struggle to come up with a single idea to write about each week?
Catching the comparison spiral
When I realized what I was doing—allowing myself to be distracted and (temporarily) demoralized by unhelpful thinking—I reminded myself of a couple things:
First, he’s an author. Researching and writing is what he does. And he most likely has at least a small team of people helping him do it (editing, publishing, etc.).
I run a gym. Coaching mental and physical performance is what I do. While I also have a small team that helps me with that part, the writing is something I do on my own and as just a small piece of a much larger mission. If I don’t want to do what he’s doing—which I don’t—then I can’t (and shouldn’t) compare my output or process to his.
Second, that line of thinking reminded me that everyone, including the most prolific, sometimes struggles to create.
Even the most prolific struggle
The specific example that came to mind was Fred Rogers. You might remember him from your childhood years as the creator, main character, and voice of many of the supporting characters (i.e. puppets) on Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.
In its 31 seasons, a grand total of 912 episodes were aired. Yet in April of 1979—eleven years after the show’s premier and, coincidentally, the month I was born—Rogers typed out this message to himself:
Am I kidding myself that I’m able to write a script again? Am I really just whistling Dixie? I wonder. If I don’t get down to it I’ll never really know. Why can’t I trust myself? Really that’s what it’s all about… that and not wanting to go through the agony of creation. AFTER ALL THESE YEARS IT’S JUST AS BAD AS EVER. I wonder if every creative artist goes through the tortures of the damned trying to create? Oh, well, the hour cometh and now IS when I’ve got to do it. GET TO IT, FRED. GET TO IT… But don’t let anybody ever tell anybody else that it was easy. It wasn’t.
It was at this point in my thought process that I realized all of this would make a decent basis for today’s tip, which really comes down to three points.
Three takeaways
First, we’re generally happier and more effective when we judge our efforts by our own standards instead of someone else’s standards (whether those are standards they set for themselves or ones we assume they expect from us).
Second, everyone struggles. But, as I mentioned last week, overcoming those struggles are where many of our proudest memories are built. So even though struggle can be uncomfortable in the moment, embracing it will more often lead to a better outcome than trying to avoid it.
And finally, I’d like to solicit some ideas from you for Trainer Tips Tuesday topics for the upcoming year! While I can certainly continue using my personal experiences and current sources for inspiration, what I’m most interested in writing about are solutions to specific thinking, nutrition, or training challenges that you’re encountering.
So…
Putting it into practice
Spend some time over the next week considering where you might be judging yourself by standards that you didn’t set for yourself—or even agree to meet.
How did you adopt them? Were they actually imposed upon you? Or have you been operating under the assumption that these are standards which you’re “just supposed to meet”? In other words, did you take on someone else’s standards without realizing it?
What might happen if you intentionally set standards that are appropriate for your situation?
Of course, when you’re setting or updating those standards, remember that the point isn’t to entirely avoid struggle—it’s to choose the type of struggle that’s important to you, not to someone else.
And if you want to read any of my thoughts on that—or on any other thinking, nutrition, or training topic—let me know here.