Action precedes motivation
As I sit here and type the first words into my first ever Substack post, I’ll admit that I don’t exactly know what I’m going to say and I most certainly don’t know how it’s going to end. Maybe it’ll be a gorgeously eloquent and well-structured piece of prose that will amaze and inspire thousands of people with its wisdom.
More likely it will just be the messy rambling thoughts inside my brain as I cope with insomnia.
The fact of the matter is, I love to write. I’ve been an avid diary girl since I was first learning to spell and hold a pencil. In second grade, I had a fuzzy diary with an actual lock and key. In high school, I spent an hour at Barnes and Noble picking out the perfect journal that felt good in my hands. In college, I reluctantly journaled as a result of frequent recommendations from my therapist. She knew it was good for me, and she wasn’t wrong.
I’d say my relationship with journaling started to shift after my mom died. What once was a safe space to throw up all my thoughts became a scary, uncomfortable prison cell where I was forced against my will to confront dark and scary thoughts inside the four walls of my grieving brain. Why would I ever want that?
After the most primal and important person in my life died, journaling became a chore. A task that felt like hauling a boulder up a mountain. I’m a Capricorn, an earth-sign goat, so you’d think I’d be successful at such a task (the boulder hauling task I mean - are my ramblings making any sense?).
All of this is to say that something I once loved, something that brought peace of mind and calm, had turned into something that did the complete opposite. So I avoided it. My journal collected dust on the shelf and my pencil stayed tucked away in the drawer and I went months without putting a word to paper.
There were rare moments where something would come over me though, and I’d dust off that journal and scour the drawers for a neglected pencil. Usually these were milestone moments where I absolutely ached for my mom. A birthday. Master’s degree graduation. Acceptance to my dream job in Turkey. When he broke up with me. When I spoke at the biggest international teaching conference in the world in my favorite country in the world. When I had the flu. When I didn’t like my haircut.
There are moments so incredible and mundane where you absolutely need your mom. Where nothing will ever replace the comfort of a mom’s hug or affirmation. I cry and stare out my window at the trees blanketed in snow as I type this. I want to slam this laptop closed, because when I started this post I did not know where it would end up. I hate this feeling and want it to stop.
This is why I’ve become reluctant to open a journal. This can of worms is so ugly and heavy and I absolutely hate facing it.
I just took a deep breath.
What’s interesting is that even though I didn’t know where this post would go once I started typing, I did in fact always know the title: action precedes motivation.
This phrase rings in my head often these days. It’s something my best friend has repeated to me multiple times over the past month, as I navigate a major professional transition in my life.
There are so many tasks I avoid doing on a daily basis, like the dishes. I fucking hate doing the dishes. I’ll avoid that task until a pile of plates and glasses and forks have turned into an art installation on the sink. I know I shouldn’t do this, BUT I DON’T HAVE THE MOTIVATION, OK?
That’s when my bestie’s voice steps in and says, “action precedes motivation.” Ughhhhh, OKAY. I’ll do the damn dishes. Surprise! I feel amazing after.
Now I have a smile on my face. I can tell you that I most certainly did NOT have the motivation to complete my first ever Substack post, and to be honest, I just about gave up in the middle of it.
But as my wise bestie says, “action precedes motivation.”
This journal may not be fuzzy or feel good in my hands, but perhaps it’s the exact kind of writing I need at this point in my life.
Dang, did this end up being a gorgeously eloquent and well-structured piece of prose that will amaze and inspire thousands of people with its wisdom?!
P.S., that picture at the top is my mom when she was a baby. Wasn’t she precious? 🥹