johnmaconline

I used to be a digital hoarder. 

Not anymore, though. Now, one of my beginning-of-the-year tasks is to give my email Inbox(es) an enema. 

Inbox Zero is a myth. Or rather, it’s a myth past the second week of January. So I don’t fight it. In fact, I’ve come to find that I don’t even need it. But once a year, I give that Inbox a right and proper enema. And boy, does it feel good.

Fresh and clean. Uncluttered and unencumbered. Open and inviting.

The opportunities are endless.

My cleaning cycle consists of unsubscribing, archiving, and deletion. Truth be told, though, “delete” is by far my favorite. In a single morning, I deleted over 1000 emails that had left my Inbox looking like a digital version of the dystopian landscape from WALL-E. 

I think there’s something emotionally cleansing about deleting that isn’t quite true of unsubscribing and archiving. Unsubscribing is an act for the future — “I don’t really know if you’ll try to take any of my future time, but please don’t.” Archiving is an act of preservation — “This might be useful, or helpful, or for some reason I may need to recall this. Even if I don’t want to.”

But deletion…That’s wiping the slate clean. 

What’s been piling up in your emotional Inbox that you need to delete?

The difference between misinformation and disinformation is intent.
The difference between murder and manslaughter is intent.
The difference between capitalization and exploitation is intent.
The difference between a misogynist pig and a virtuous Christian is intent.
The difference between a ring and an engagement ring is intent.
The difference between preference and racism is intent.

The outcome may be the same, but the process, thinking, and feeling are oh, so different.

Intention is difficult to discern, but it’s always worth the effort.

Janice had a thought.

“I’m a coffee drinker. I’ve never had tea before because…well, tea is dumb. Obviously. High octane, please. But some people I know really enjoy tea. I can’t imagine why someone would enjoy tea. But I wonder…Do I have it wrong? What would it be like? Why do some people choose tea over coffee? What if today I have tea instead of coffee?”

Of course, it doesn’t matter whether Janice has tea or coffee because the courage to consider that she might be wrong is enough.

The story you tell yourself may be how right you were. Or maybe it’s about how you’re a member of the right team — the smart, caring, and correct ones.  

But the story you tell yourself might be about what a bad person you are. About how you aren’t worthy or will never be who you want to be. It may be a story of failures and regrets.

Which is right?

They both are, of course. We’re talking about reality, not truth. 

Which means if you want to make a change, start a new path, or finally live authentically, start with the story you tell yourself. 

When I was a kid, sticks and stones may have broken my bones, but names would never have hurt me.

When I was a kid, we were color-blind. 

When I was a kid, if I got in trouble at school, my ass was toast when I got home.

When I was a kid, if I misbehaved in public, some annoyed adult would scold me, and my parents would thank them.

When I was a kid, we could and did get hurt on the playground.

When I was a kid, we figured out how to get a game going, the teams, and the rules all without a single adult supervising.

There. I got that off my chest…Now get off my f*!king lawn!

A tree lives alone in a field near my house.

In the summer, it tells a story. As autumn peaks, the story changes as the color and shape shift. Now its structure is exposed — the bones, the connections, the underbelly — and the cold has come.

It tells a different story, yet you know it’s the same tree.

The sun warms the air, the days elongate, and the tree’s color and shape shift again. Its story follows. But that story is not the same as the previous summer. It will never be the same because the tree has lived through that similar yet unique season of exposure. Some branches died. New ones were born. The trunk has added girth and length. This year’s leaves could never be the same ones of last year.

Yet again, you know it’s the same tree.

And the pattern continues for 10, 50, 100 years. Each year, the tree is the same, but its story changes.

Don’t feel guilty if…

You grew up in a loving family.
Your mom and dad are still together.
Your family was middle class.
You had a stable home in the suburbs.

These are things over which you had no control. It was luck (or Providence).

Now turn that around. Don’t feel guilty if…

You grew up in a broken home.
You never knew your dad (or mom).
Your family struggled with money.
You lived in several places.

These are things over which you had no control. It was (bad) luck.

Exactly.

Are you on your phone? Yes, you’re being manipulated.
Are you shopping on the internet? Yes, you’re being manipulated.
Are you watching YouTube? Yes, you’re being manipulated.
Are you browsing social media on your computer? Yes, you’re being manipulated.
Are you watching/listening/reading the news? Yes, you’re being manipulated.
Are you playing video games? Yes, you’re being manipulated.

The question isn’t if you’re being manipulated. The question is, what are you allowing?

Read this today from the interesting thinker and wonderful writer, Luke Burgis:

Yet we have to go through the thin to get to the thick. We have to watch bad movies to know a good one when we see it; we have to drink mediocre wines; most of us have to date people we will not one day marry; we must go through adolescence to reach adulthood. The key is learning to get better at identifying one desire from the other—to develop a hermeneutic or interpretive key by which to judge these experiences in the first place.

Luke Burgis

I love it because it speaks to the ordinary yet true nuances of the toggle-switch, Failing Forward rhetoric from the Personal Development Crowd (PDC). The thin, the bad movies, the mediocre wines, the wrong relationships — these are every bit the failures without which we can never move forward. These are the kind of failures that give us context. And context is critical in every aspect of our life.

Yes, I’m a believer in using the capital ‘F’ failures to move us forward, as the PDC preaches. But never underestimate the power of the ordinary.

Because when we come to the fork in the road carrying a bag full of ordinary life failures, and the Cheshire Cat’s eyes are staring inquisitively at us, all of a sudden, the direction we choose does matter.