I don’t really do “resolutions.”
I have, in the past. But like most people I’ve discovered that I have a tendency to overdo it. I decide, resolutely, that I’m going to, say, exercise every day, lose twenty pounds, learn to play an instrument, learn to speak another language, reorganize my closet, travel more, write more, etc., etc., etc. Big piles. Big goals.
The trouble is, when we do this we’re setting ourselves up for failure.
Don’t get me wrong: All of these “big goals” can be good for us. It’s good to want to get in shape, to lose weight and exercise more. It’s good to want to learn new things, and go to new places. It’s just the pressure we put on ourselves to “do it all now” that winds up being bad. That’ll tank your energy faster than anything. And no energy, no go.
Every new year, I pick a word. The word of the year. And that word is my guidepost for everything I do over that year.
This year, the word is commitment.
I have always hated commitments. Such a typical guy thing, right? But putting your word on something, and then have to live up to it or risk looking like a fool or a failure or both… ick. No thank you.
Except…
There’s a phrase I’ve encountered quite a bit since I started studying stoicism (oh yeah … I study stoicism! I’ll fill you in on that later): “Discipline is freedom.”
I like this phrase because it’s demonstrably true. If you are disciplined about how you eat and how you exercise, you’re free to have dessert without guilt, from time to time. If you’re disciplined with saving and investing your money, you’re free to buy a house or a car, or take a trip, or buy yourself something nice. Discipline really is freedom.
And to become disciplined requires commitment.
There’s another rule about commitment that I follow, though: Tell no one of your plans until you can prove your commitment.
I like this, too, because I’ve come to understand that sharing my plans with people is the quickest way to suck all the energy out of them.
This is the other problem I always have with resolutions. People always ask you about them, around this time of year, as if they wouldn’t know exactly what you’re going to say. There are, essentially, three recurring New Year’s resolutions, let’s just face it.
But if you do happen to have something unique and original—”I’m going to write a blog post every single day for the whole year!”—as soon as anyone hears it you get the standard “response of discouragement.” Their eyes widen slightly, they inhale, they blow out their breath as they shake their head. They say, “Man, I’d never do that.” Or worse, they actively warn you against even trying it.
Most of the time these are meant to be well-meaning comments. They don’t think you’ll pull this off, and they don’t want you to fail. So the best way to avoid failure is to not try.
The thing is, who’s really to say whether you could or could not pull off something like daily blogging? There are people like Seth Godin who have literally blogged every single day for years. No one is going to tell him he can’t do it, at this point.
Casey Neistat, a popular YouTuber and filmmaker, did a daily vlog—that’s a video blog, fully produced with high production value—for 800 days straight. I did the math: That’s two years, two months, and ten days. For more than two years Casey produced high-quality video, without missing a beat. I have trouble posting something once a month.
So it might be unlikely that someone could succeed at a “big goal,” but it’s not impossible. It’s just that Seth Godin and Casey Neistat didn’t go out and say to everyone they know, “I’m going to do this.” Instead … they just did it.
They told no one of their plans until they could prove their commitment.
There’s a reason this sort of thing works.
From a psychological perspective, our brains don’t really know the difference between energy spent doing something and energy spent talking about doing something. We are, for the most part, wired for story. As long as the story is active and engaging, we pay attention. We stay focused. But when the story is complete… we’re done.
It’s wired into us. We crave novelty and satisfaction. And the former wears off once the latter has been fulfilled.
Talking about what we’re going to do is telling a story. We’re giving it our energy. We’re putting it out there for others to scrutinize. And once we have their feedback… story over. The energy fades. We’re not as excited anymore.
If we could tell (and better yet, show) all of our friends and family the amazing progress we’ve made in going from fat and flabby and weak to thing and muscled and strong, we’d get a little kick of adrenaline and endorphins that would make us feel great! But we can get a sort of pseudo endorphin kick by just skipping all the hard work and talking to someone about what we’re gonna do. We skip the line. We take our reward early.
The trouble is, it’s hollow and meaningless. Taking the reward before the work robs us of the real heart of the story.
So, I’m a Christian. And in the New Testament there’s this passage:
6 “Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.
2 “So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. 3 But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, 4 so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.
Matthew 6:1-4
Don’t worry, you don’t have to be a Christian or even a believer to see the wisdom in this. But it’s exactly the sort of thing I’m talking about. When you talk to people about what you’re gonna do, you essentially “receive your reward in full.” You get all the gratification, then and there, and it feels empty. It lacks substance.
There’s probably a stoic version of this, but I’m kind of new to the philosophy, and haven’t come across it yet.
The whole point here, when we boil off the excess, is that resolutions, especially publicly made resolutions, lack any real power. They’re a story, but they’re like the Cliff’s Notes version. The real story is our commitment.
If discipline is freedom, then commitment is the key to achieving everything we ever wanted. It’s real power. Super power.
And it can’t be faked. You can write it down, post it on Instagram, make some YouTube videos about it, but that’s all meaningless. It’s doing that proves your commitment.
Which reminds me of another passage from a wise sage:
“Do. Or do not. there is no try.”
—Yoda, Jedi Master
So, I’m not going to talk about my New Year’s resolutions. Although I can say that what you’re reading, right now, is a part of the commitment I’ve made for my life, going forward.
And no … it’s not daily blogging.
You’ll just have to stick around and see what I produce. Because it’s my consistent actions and results that demonstrate my commitment. And I can’t fake those with platitudes or inspirational quotes or selfies of me at the gem.
One last bible verse, to sum this up:
You will know them by their fruit.
Matthew 7:16
Look at what I produce. Look at what anyone produces. You’ll know our commitments by our fruit. You’ll know who we are by what we produce in the world.
Here’s to 2020, and the commitments and disciplines that will enable us to produce good fruit in the world.
Dan Kotler is back, and this time he’s been recruited to help investigate a mysterious artifact that’s at the heart of a Senator’s disappearance. Engraved on the artifact is a lost Viking rune… but that’s impossible.
The artifact predates the Vikings by nearly ten-thousand years.
Now the artifact has been stolen, and whoever took it plans use it to unleash Hel on Earth. And only Dan Kotler can stop them!
Book 13 in the Dan Kotler Archaeological Thrillers!
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