duration vs distance

Do I need progress or persistence?

My high school lacrosse coach told me I looked like a tyrannosaurus rex running underwater.

I was not fast. I told myself it was okay, because I was at least consistent.

That wasn’t necessarily true either. I was, to a point, but then gave up when I got tired.

I wanted to be less of a quitter, but I didn’t know how. I saw the tenacity of my teammates and it seemed they had something I didn’t. I decided it must be because I was a mentally weak person. This, I assumed, was not something I could change. 

I was wrong. 

In college, I learned that brains are malleable. A professor introduced me to the concept of neuroplasticity, explaining that my actions could change my thought patterns. I found this revelation liberating. I knew what I wanted to change, so I began to work on it.

I started with running, which I despised (see above T-rex comment). It served as the perfect control environment to observe what happened in my brain when I became very uncomfortable. 

My thoughts looked like this in the beginning:

This sucks. 

Fuck this. 

I’m walking.

Most times I stopped right when I wanted to. 

Then one day I tried running for thirty seconds longer than when I wanted to quit.

The run after that, I kept going for a whole three-minute song more, playing the most inspiring upbeat thing on my playlist as a reward. 

My internal conversation became: 

This sucks. 

Fuck this. 

Fuck this so much. 

Okay one more song. 

Is this song almost over?

Wow, that was my longest run yet.

I saw that I could keep going if I focused on adding a tiny bit more each time. 

Instead of trying to accomplish anything crazy, I just showed up day after day. Over time, I ran longer and further than I imagined possible. 

Focusing on duration is what has unlocked some of the best experiences of my entire life. 

I’ve ran three marathons by showing up everyday for my daily runs, lasting a bit longer every day.

I did a 10-day silent meditation retreat, meditating for 110 hours in total. I got through it hour by hour, focusing on lasting one minute longer.

I worked on the trading floor at Goldman Sachs, taking it one day at a time, learning as much as I could in the next twenty minutes.

In all of these experiences, I learned how to watch my thoughts, listening to the absolutely crazy things my mind invented to try to convince me to stop. But I stayed in it. I learned how to be equanimous. 

This has served me immensely. 

Recently, I spoke to a high school class in my hometown in Michigan. I pictured myself at sixteen, self-conscious and anxious, sitting in the orange plastic chair.

What did I wish she had known?

Everything you want is possible. The big, bold, beautiful life that feels like a pipe dream, living in Spain, being in love, writing everyday. All of it is possible. 

But the only way you’re going to get there is if you learn how to endure discomfort. 

The sooner you realize that success is directly correlated to how long you can be uncomfortable, everything will unlock. Your ability to withstand uncertainty is what will open up your life. 

I wish I had known it then, but I’m glad know it now.

To be clear, I’d of course prefer things to be comfortable and certain. It would be delightful if everything in my life could be captured on one big to-do list and I could methodically check off the tasks. 

But what I know now is that real transformational progress is not linear. It requires time in the arena, with no fanfare and no results for years at a time. 

An example of this is the work I’ve done to improve my relationship with eating.

God, it has been the most grueling marathon.

I’ve struggled with eating for over a decade. More than half of my life has been at war with myself. 

I got serious about improving my relationship with food two years ago. I finally started working with a nutritionist after years of encouragement.

The first call we had, she suggested I start drinking warm water with lemon every morning. I was annoyed. That was it? That was her grand advice? I rolled my eyes and ordered a tea kettle on Amazon. I was willing to try it. 

The second call we had, she asked me about the warm water with lemon. Then I was pissed. Didn’t she want to know what I was eating? Where was the intervention? The food plans? How was warm water with lemon going to make a difference?

I kept drinking it, begrudgingly. Then it stuck. 

We added more things after that. Cut down on coffee, increased water, added more habits. Lemon water was only the beginning. 

Eventually we got to the point where I was going to try to incorporate my fear foods into my diet. I hadn’t eaten bread, pasta, or desserts for years. With my move to Spain coming up, I wanted to work on being comfortable eating real foods. 

I started with a croissant. 

I’ll never forget heading to a cafe like I was going into battle. I sat there in the Australian cafe in the West Village and stared at the buttery croissant on my plate like it was going to kill me.

I didn’t want to eat it. 

I could hardly bear to smell it. I knew rationally that I was being crazy, but I was terrified. Eventually, I tore off a piece and ate it. I chewed and chewed. I pulled off another piece, swallowing it quickly. The butter flooded my mouth, making my eyes water. 

I did this once a week. I walked into a restaurant and ordered a type of food I was afraid of eating. Every time it was miserable. It felt completely pointless and never got easier. 

My food problems were unmoving for a year. I thought the nutritionist was ineffective and this method was pointless. 

Then it started to unlock. 

Somehow, two years later, I eat my former fear foods without a thought. I order a croissant without even considering its significance. It’s no longer a punishment. The real victory is that I think about food and my body less and less every week. I’m clawing my brain space back day after day.

Duration, not distance. 

If I had been looking for proof of my progress to keep going, I would have stopped. But because I was focused on duration, I showed up and did the practice. 

I have to remind myself of the importance of doing the practice all the time.

Currently, I’m working on two projects that have a longer duration than I’ve ever embarked on. 

One of them, a writing project, is at least measurable. Every day, I contribute to the word doc and track how many words I wrote that day. It is immensely satisfying. 

I’m also working on launching a lemon beverage called Limm. There is no clear linear progress. There is no Excel tracker with “lemons per day” or some other metric.  

Some days I make a ton of observable progress, putting together a slide deck and launching the website. Other days, there’s no output. I’ve been on calls that go nowhere and done research that produces no answers.  

All the same, this time needs to be spent. It has to be measured by duration. 

I have to be thinking about it, spending time in it, existing in the membrane of the idea. It’s the reading and wandering around Barcelona for inspiration and talking to friends that is going to make the difference over the long-term.

When I get stuck, it’s helpful for me to check in and ask: Am I focused on the right thing? 

Is this about distance or duration?

Do I need progress or persistence?

Asking these questions helps me refocus and recommit. What feels like inertia is actually incubation. 

I just have to stay in it.