attempt.
Even the slightest step toward awesome will cause fear to fire into your heart like a warning flare.
“Who are you to do that?”
“What makes you think you can be that?”
“You don’t have the right education, background, or experience to do that.”
“You’re just a mom or a customer call center representative.”
“None of your previous life experiences apply in any manner to this new dream.”
The first argument from fear is that you’re not qualified, and it’s the one I experienced when I wrote my third book, Quitter . My first book was a Christian satire, and Quitter was going to be a business book. Fear was quick to point that out. Here’s what one of my voices said:
“You can’t write a book like Quitter ! Your first book doesn’t even count. You’ve never even written a ‘real book.’ That was just some dumb blog that got turned into a book. It’s a collection of loosely tied-together essays, and it’s illustrated! There’s a unicorn prancing through a field of flowers. You didn’t write a book; you published a coloring book. Who do you think you are to write a business book? What makes you think you can jump shelves? You can’t go from the Christian Inspiration section to the Business section. You’re the funny Christian guy. That’s who you are, and no one will ever believe differently. How dare you dream that you could write a business book. No one is going to believe this.”
And I believed the voice. The writing process was torturous, and even after it came out I struggled with that voice.
One day my team leader called me into his office and asked me why I was apologizing for Quitter . I didn’t know what he meant, so he explained further.
“Do you believe in Quitter ? Do you believe it’s a good book that people need to read? Do you believe it can help someone change their life?”
I responded slowly, but my answer was yes.
“Then you’ve got to start talking about it. You’ve practically been apologizing for it, sheepishly sharing about it online and ignoring it. Be brave enough to admit you wrote a good book. Believe in it. Quit apologizing.”
He was right. The voice I’d listened to wasn’t a friend. It was a foe. And in trying to knock me off course, it showed its colors.
If you manage to wrestle through feeling wildly unqualified to do something awesome, fear will change tactics and hand you a calendar.
2. You’re too late.
It was 7:27 a.m. on a Monday. I was sitting in my office at home, in front of the bookshelves my wife reorganized by color. I was trying to write a little, but a chorus of voices filled my head. This is what they were saying:
You’re behind.
You’ll never get ahead.
If you could just get ahead, then you could rest.
It’s too late.
If you had more time, you could get it all done.
Like most of the other voices I struggle with, this was not a new one. But on that morning, for the first time, I decided it might be a lie.
So instead of spinning out, I started to write out what each thought really meant:
“You’re behind.”
Behind what? According to what schedule? Against what measurement? What does that even mean? There is no clock I am on right now. Work hasn’t even started yet. I am not in a race. There is no competitor I am fighting against. What am I behind?
“You’ll never get ahead.”
Ahead of what? What does ahead mean? Who is defining ahead ? I have a sneaking suspicion that ahead doesn’t exist.
“If you could just get ahead, then you could rest.”
Rest is a gift, not a reward. It’s not a hobby that lazy people take advantage of; it’s woven into the fabric of our very biology. The body is designed to rest. I don’t have to earn that with my performance. Rest is not a by-product of my success; it’s a by-product of my humanity. I don’t have to get ahead to enjoy it or need it.
“It’s too late.”
Ridiculous. It’s Monday morning at 7:27. How is it already too late this week? I
Even the slightest step toward awesome will cause fear to fire into your heart like a warning flare.
“Who are you to do that?”
“What makes you think you can be that?”
“You don’t have the right education, background, or experience to do that.”
“You’re just a mom or a customer call center representative.”
“None of your previous life experiences apply in any manner to this new dream.”
The first argument from fear is that you’re not qualified, and it’s the one I experienced when I wrote my third book, Quitter . My first book was a Christian satire, and Quitter was going to be a business book. Fear was quick to point that out. Here’s what one of my voices said:
“You can’t write a book like Quitter ! Your first book doesn’t even count. You’ve never even written a ‘real book.’ That was just some dumb blog that got turned into a book. It’s a collection of loosely tied-together essays, and it’s illustrated! There’s a unicorn prancing through a field of flowers. You didn’t write a book; you published a coloring book. Who do you think you are to write a business book? What makes you think you can jump shelves? You can’t go from the Christian Inspiration section to the Business section. You’re the funny Christian guy. That’s who you are, and no one will ever believe differently. How dare you dream that you could write a business book. No one is going to believe this.”
And I believed the voice. The writing process was torturous, and even after it came out I struggled with that voice.
One day my team leader called me into his office and asked me why I was apologizing for Quitter . I didn’t know what he meant, so he explained further.
“Do you believe in Quitter ? Do you believe it’s a good book that people need to read? Do you believe it can help someone change their life?”
I responded slowly, but my answer was yes.
“Then you’ve got to start talking about it. You’ve practically been apologizing for it, sheepishly sharing about it online and ignoring it. Be brave enough to admit you wrote a good book. Believe in it. Quit apologizing.”
He was right. The voice I’d listened to wasn’t a friend. It was a foe. And in trying to knock me off course, it showed its colors.
If you manage to wrestle through feeling wildly unqualified to do something awesome, fear will change tactics and hand you a calendar.
2. You’re too late.
It was 7:27 a.m. on a Monday. I was sitting in my office at home, in front of the bookshelves my wife reorganized by color. I was trying to write a little, but a chorus of voices filled my head. This is what they were saying:
You’re behind.
You’ll never get ahead.
If you could just get ahead, then you could rest.
It’s too late.
If you had more time, you could get it all done.
Like most of the other voices I struggle with, this was not a new one. But on that morning, for the first time, I decided it might be a lie.
So instead of spinning out, I started to write out what each thought really meant:
“You’re behind.”
Behind what? According to what schedule? Against what measurement? What does that even mean? There is no clock I am on right now. Work hasn’t even started yet. I am not in a race. There is no competitor I am fighting against. What am I behind?
“You’ll never get ahead.”
Ahead of what? What does ahead mean? Who is defining ahead ? I have a sneaking suspicion that ahead doesn’t exist.
“If you could just get ahead, then you could rest.”
Rest is a gift, not a reward. It’s not a hobby that lazy people take advantage of; it’s woven into the fabric of our very biology. The body is designed to rest. I don’t have to earn that with my performance. Rest is not a by-product of my success; it’s a by-product of my humanity. I don’t have to get ahead to enjoy it or need it.
“It’s too late.”
Ridiculous. It’s Monday morning at 7:27. How is it already too late this week? I
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