I dunno, man.

Every day I sit down to do these and I think I have nothing to talk about, and every day I end up with the thousand words that I want to write.

So what do we mean when we say, “I don’t have what to talk about”?

Is it really, “I don’t have anything to say,” or is it, “I don’t have anything that meets my bar, my expectation, my sense of control for what I want to say”?

It seems to me it’s less a skill issue and more a certainty issue.

When I say I don’t have anything to talk about, what I mean is I can’t see the end of the story yet.

And of course, when that happens, it can feel safer to not start.

Embarking on a journey can be incredibly dangerous if I don’t know what I might encounter on it.

So the question becomes: are the unknowns really as unknown as they seem?

And is encountering the unknown really as dangerous as it seems?

I believe the answer to both of these is no.

And, I believe that you can’t change your answer to this just by learning it. It’s not an intellectual exercise.

We all know rationally that these things are not dangerous.

But how do we get to a place where, on a felt level, on a body level, we can trust that no matter what action we take, we will be okay?

They say fortune favours the bold.

I don’t agree.

Fortune favours the trusting.

Fortune favours the faithful.

Fortune favours the person who says:

I don’t know where this goes, but I trust God, I trust myself, that I will figure it out along the way.

There is nothing else we need.

Everything is figureoutable.

So how do we get to the place where, on a felt level, on a body level, we can trust that no matter what action we take, we will be okay?

We get there through play.

The mistake I used to make was to try to change these things from within my fight-or-flight mode.

The belief seems to be:

If I am not taking the action that I intended to take, then it’s because there’s something wrong with me.

Not enough willpower.

Not enough discipline.

Not enough motivation.

These are all suggesting there’s something wrong with me for being how I’m being, and that if I could just fix those things about me, then I would be doing what I want to be doing and I would get the outcomes I want to get.

It’s a nice idea.

And I can see where we learnt it from. I can see how we were taught it. How it was conditioned into us.

But how’s it working out for you?

For me, it doesn’t work so well.

Weeks, months, years later, I’m still in that same place.

Still not doing the thing. Still beating myself up. And then maybe beating myself up for how I still haven’t been able to fix that thing about me.

Layers of shame upon layers of shame.

Which is normal.

We think it works.

And in some way it does.

Just not towards the thing we were intending to move toward.

The reason it doesn’t work is because when we’re in that shame mode, that beating-ourselves-up mode, that triggered fight-or-flight mode, our body is not set up for learning. It’s not set up for problem-solving. For creativity.

From an evolutionary standpoint, it makes perfect sense.

When there’s a threat I need all my energy to go toward being able to run away from the threat, or fight the threat, or hide from the threat, or appease the threat.

Fight. Flight. Freeze. Fawn.

Not a lot of room for things like, for example, digesting food. That system goes on pause.

But so does creativity. So does learning. So does problem-solving. So does curiosity and wonder. So does play.

That’s why, for me, one of the most direct ways to actually effect change has been to introduce play. Experiments.

Because when we’re playing, we’re back in our parasympathetic nervous system.

Our body is calm.

Which means we can connect more dots.

See more options.

Learn things.

Remember things.

Creatively problem-solve.

And we get access to the enjoyment that really we’re seeking from all these behaviours anyway.

How do you want to feel once you’ve “made it”?

Really imagine it.

Feel it in your body.

When I’ve made it, I’ll be able to relax. I feel my shoulders drop. A little smile on my face. A little wiggle in my shoulders. An unclenching.

My chest feels more open. I feel a connection with the objects around me. The space around me.

I notice the light reflecting off things that I hadn’t noticed just a minute ago. I hear the silence underneath the sound of the air conditioner.

I notice the sensation of the pen against my fingers. Against the side of my hand. I feel a sense of groundedness.

From that place, I get to play.

Not what action do I believe would get me to some end goal?

More like: if I can feel that satisfaction right now, why does the end goal even matter?

It’s much more fun to play towards it than to struggle towards it.

Or better yet: play in whichever direction feels enjoyable, and trust that it will move toward the intention.

Five years from now, this will be a $30 million business.

That is more of a knowing than an intention.

Do I know all the steps to get there?

Absolutely not.

Do I need it to get there?

Absolutely not. It’s an illusion to think that I would be happier or more content once I get there. Things don’t change our baseline happiness. And we have no idea what would even make us happy.

Instead, I’ll be like a plant.

It knows that its direction is towards the sun. But it doesn’t try to make itself grow there.

It trusts.

When we don’t do anything to block ourselves from moving towards our intention, it is our default nature to move toward our intention.

Instead of trying to make myself get there, I will take whichever next step feels enjoyable and accessible.

We can’t see how the dots connect moving forward.

But I have faith that every step we take is toward our highest good.

There is no way around it.

We cannot fight it.

We are only human.

Incredibly, imperfectly, beautifully human.

I can take the next step playfully, and with faith.