GNT #185: Possibility is a muscle

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You probably had a good idea recently. And almost as fast as it came, you talked yourself out of it.

Maybe it was a bigger version of your work. Maybe it was writing the book, taking the trip, applying for the role, or finally paying for the help that would give you your evenings back.

The idea showed up in your brain. And then immediately right after.

"I could never."

"I don't have the time."

"That's not realistic."

That answer likely did not feel like fear or doubt.

It probably felt like good judgment. Like you were just being honest about how the world actually works.

I chatted with a coach named Sarah Pritzl about that moment. I’ve had many moments just like this. Sarah says this is a muscle most of us have let go weak.

Today I want to help you notice that reflex in your own voice, and give you one small thing to try this week to start working that muscle again.

Let's get to it.

How it goes weak

Sarah works with high achievers just like I do. People who are good at what they do.

But she says she often sees these high achievers stop training the possibility muscle.

When you stop training a muscle it doesn’t disappear. It just gets weak. The same thing happens to your sense of what is possible for you.

You can hear this in the way people talk. We build up a set of rules that keep making our world a little smaller over time. “That could never happen. I could never do that. I have to do it this way.”

Bit by bit, you start seeing only the reasons something will not work, and stop seeing the reasons it might.

And the sneaky thing is these thoughts never arrive feeling like fear.

“It poses itself as merit,” Sarah told me. “As intelligence. As being realistic.”

I think it’s fascinating and scary that the thing that keeps us thinking small makes us feel smart.

I’m afraid of heights

I've said that about myself for as long as I can remember. It's just a thing I know about me, the same way I know I get airsick and I don't love small spaces.

I've also spent three and a half years building an airplane in my garage and then flown all over the country in it. We watched the eclipse from nine thousand feet. That one was Ed's idea. He can picture a future and then take consistent steps toward it. I've had a front row seat to that for most of my adult life.

I feel very fortunate that I’ve been surrounded by people whose sense of what's possible is much stronger than mine, and one at a time they've walked me into things I was sure I'd never do.

Then my friend Bhavika asked me to go skydiving earlier this year.

She wasn't trying to convince me of anything. She was just so excited about it, the way she's excited about most things, and somewhere in the middle of listening to her I realized I was excited too. So I said yes. (!!!)

By the time you read this I'll have done it. My first jump, out of a plane over western Wisconsin, and I promise to tell you all about it.

Nobody talked me out of anything. I didn't get new information about heights or parachutes or how safe any of it actually is. I spent an hour with someone who was excited.

And I'll probably still tell you I'm afraid of heights next week.

That's the trouble with these rules. They don't feel like rules. They feel like the truth.

Takeaway

Sarah's advice is not a vision board or a five-year plan.

It's this: put the other leg in your pants first.

I'm serious. That's the assignment. Drive a different way to work. Get your coffee somewhere you never go. Brush your teeth with the wrong hand.

"They are so absurdly silly and small," she said, "but that is how it starts."

I've been doing this for the last week and it's true. You cannot put the wrong leg in first without noticing you're doing it. You've done it the other way ten thousand times and never once caught yourself. Go the other direction and suddenly you're standing in your closet, awake, at 6am, paying attention to your own pants.

Your body isn't the only thing running on autopilot. "I could never" is a habit too. You've said it so many times you stopped hearing it, the same way you stopped noticing which leg goes in first.

So do the pants this week. It's easy, it's a little bit funny, and nobody has to know you're doing it.

Then the harder rep. The next time an idea shows up and your brain shuts it down before you've even looked at it, can you catch it?

You probably won't, the first few times. But catching it late still counts.

When you do catch it, ask one question: is that true, or is it just familiar?

I'm always rooting for you. See you next week.

-Colleen

p.s. Sarah Pritzl is a Certified Wayfinder Coach (ICF-Accredited) in Saint Paul who works with high achievers. If you recognized yourself in this and want to see how she works with people, you can find her at Anomaly Coaching.

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