Solitude makes us more aware of our thoughts, feelings, and state of mind. Maybe that's why it can be intimidating. Have you had a day where things start off dandy but as it progresses, your mood changes. What was once a fairly relaxed setting quickly transforms into a mire of worry and worthlessness. Where does that feeling come from? Why do we always feel the need to do more? I hope this wee riff on tackling a sense of inadequacy gives you a moment to take a step back and create room for curiosity instead of criticism. 

How often do we find ourselves in self-destructive patterns? Have you ever had those moments of self-awareness where you see what you're doing and decide to change? If you said 'yes', you're probably going to say yes to my question. Have you fallen off the willpower 'wagon'? I've been talking to friends about addictions, vices, and self-destructive behaviours. Do we have them just because we're mindless pleasure seekers? I don't think our situation is hopeless and, even if it is, that doesn't mean I won't think about it. Also, I seem to have misquoted who I believe is Arthur Ashe when he said, "Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can." Still a wicked quote!

P.S. There's something special at the end. Real special. 

Have you ever felt that surge of pain at the end of a relationship? The edginess of possibly losing work or the anxiety of a conflict about to explode? Why is it that suffering always seems impossible until it passes? My theory is that we don't practice trauma enough, specifically through the disciplined consumption of perceived agony. Death. Breakups. Bankruptcy. Loss. Each of these is a possibility, and it is their existence that makes the alternative desirable. Perhaps the answer to dealing with distress is not to insulate ourselves from all pain but to expose ourselves to it in a controlled environment. It's all just learning until the show is over. So, what will you choose? The trauma of discipline or the discipline of trauma?

How often do you base your reactions to people on how you feel? Ever so often, in a burst of anger that goes against my 'inner peace', I have said things that I will regret later - a joke, a jibe, a retort, or even just a point that could've been made better. First, there's the exhaustion from the aggression, then the guilt for saying what I have, and the shame for being the person that does all those things. I could use grit and willpower to be someone else, but that hasn't worked, and I don't think it does. Habits, systems, and routines are more useful for me. So, can a little pause between feeling and responding give us the space that creates better responses? It has helped me and might be something you could try too. 

If I didn't have a clear image of how you would like things to turn out, would uncertainty still bother me? A vision is useful for direction, but it can be distressing if I keep thinking about how it may not come to fruition exactly as I picture it. When it comes to people, this becomes a delicate dance between my expectations of interactions and the (sometimes messy) reality of experience. Oh, and then there are other people and their preferences, quirks, and neuroticism (or lack thereof, the horror!). Will we ever know exactly how people see us? Does it matter? I don't know. What I do know is that there are efficient and inefficient outcomes, but those may not always be ideal. We can't exercise that level of control over the result anyway. I've found it more useful to address my intent. Let's see what you think. 

Our anxiety is often spiked by the prospect of interacting with someone. What are the thoughts that create it? Are your thoughts your own? Where do they come from? Do the people we encounter have anything to do with them? Well, it would help to take a look. Your host has the sniffles, so please excuse the occasional interruption. 

Do you ever sit back and wonder where your life is going? Or where it has ended up? I did. I do. Often. Lately, I've replaced the impulse to freeze with the tendency to take a small step towards any one of my goals. One pushup. One sentence. One good meal. After all, what is an exceptional journey but a series of unremarkable but consistent steps?

The first episode of The Maximum Project where Adarsh introduces the idea. Listen till the end for a little special something that might move you, get you thinking, or crack you up. Who doesn't need a laugh, eh?