Motivation Monday #1: Extrinsic Motivation

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“You’ll never make money watching YouTube videos.”

I thought that today. And I needed to think it. Nearly every day, whenever I sit down to write or draw or even read, I am faced with a battle, from twin assholes known as Not Good Enough and You’ll Never Make Money Doing That. Their convincing taunts and arguments tend to make cry, or in the least, tie me down. And now I wish I could go back and hand myself a road map. Oh, Nik. 21 year-old, Nik. Just start drawing dude. Keep writing. Where would I be…

Concerns centered around money (or social status, or recognition) are known as extrinsic motivations. We all have them and they are good. Mostly. My best external motivator is competition. I love to compete. The thing is, these types of motivation is fleeting for me. I want to put my seeds in the dirt today and harvest from the trees tomorrow. And the more I consider my external pushes and pulls, I see impatience creeping just beneath the surface of my thoughts and feelings. 21 year-old Nik wasn’t patient either.

Perhaps the biggest challenge I face is being patient enough to let me do the work. In twenty years, I’ll be sixty-three.

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Vol IV: #71 Changes To Come

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I started this blog in July of 2020, at a time when my life was in a chaotic flux. And the task of blogging helped center me. I posted over 330 posts in that first year. And I was proud of the accomplishment. The last three years, I’ve drifted and tried to figure out what to do next in this space. Currently, I’m sharing bits of my life, including random thoughts and observations.

This week I put serious thought into my goals and process and I asked myself what I wanted. The short answer is to write more. But what do I write about? It’s easy to set goal for number of posts, far harder to achieve it. So, the next question I needed to answer is if I’m going to post 150 blog posts, what do I write about? As mentioned above, I’m tired of myself. Tired of blobbering. I want to evolve and I want year five to be hopeful and encouraging. And I need to be organized. Intention won’t get the job done.

So, I arrived at the following:

1. I moved up my blog birthday to July 1st, because I can.

2. Starting July 1st, I’ll post nearly every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Each day will correspond to a specific theme, which are:

   1. Motivation Monday: Exploring all things motivation, where to find it, how to find it, keep it, and what to do when it’s gone. We all know what life is like when we’re motivated and hopeful, and when it’s gone, when all is dark and bleak. I want to explore both side of that street. And, ultimately, I want to document my process of being able to stay motivated and focused regardless of what life lays on me.

   2. Writer’s Prompt Wednesday: Using a prompt, I’ll write a short story and post it. These will be fictional stories, for the most part. And the goal is to publish creative work on a regular basis. Ship it, if you will.

   3. Fun Fridays: Each Friday, I’ll review the previous week with the goal being to highlight what went well that week. With all that goes wrong in life, in and around me/us, gratitude has never failed me. And I want to end my week focused on what’s good and life-giving, rather than the idiots and failures.

3. I’ll post 150 blog posts over the next year (three a week with a few off days for holidays and travel.)

4. Finally, I want to redesign my website, link post, and improve site navigation.

That’s it. I’m looking forward to the next year and an organized approach. (You’d be surprised at the number of posts I wrote but never published or the days I wasted trying to decided what to write about.) See you Monday.

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Vol IV: #70 Chat GPT and Loser Thinking

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I feel trapped, inside a box, a pitch black box. And all my thoughts are a dark and sad as my surroundings. And though I obsess about my future and success, I remain a loser. My ass growing fatter, as I sit in my box thinking toxic thoughts. What a fraud. What an absolute liar and cheat. Theses are the thoughts I think.

And I don’t know what I can’t punch through the walls of this paper thin prison. A misty layer of lies tying me inside, tying my soul to shame and fear, whilst I repeat the same sins and mistakes I made as a kid.

I wrote the above because I wanted to write something, anything, no matter how dark or convoluted. And then I went to my therapist aka ChatGPT. And I complained to ChatGPT. Stupid artificial intelligence gave me exhausting lists of things to do. So, out of shear frustration, I asked the robot to act like a therapist, which it did. Amazingly well.

The third question asked was this:

Can you identify a few instances where you tried to improve or expand on something and it went better than you expected? How did that make you feel?

Think about this and share some examples.

And think I did.

A couple times in college, I wrote papers that throughly impressed my professors. In one case, a history teacher shook my hand, in another the professor (without naming me) praised my effort in front of the whole class. She called my work "beautiful." In an anthropology class, I earned one of two As(out of a class of 35) and a heap of praise from the professor. And my senior thesis won third place at my university.

Yes. Each of these instances made me feel great, like I was special. But I find it hard to remember these moments without help.

In truth, most of my professors loved me and my work. And I forget this because it’s too easy for me get hung up on what I’m (not) doing now, or want for my future. And without being asked, I doubt I would’ve settled on these memories, which is how loser thinking works. Loser thinking forgets victories, choosing to focus on losses and fear of loss. And I don’t know why I fall into these patterns, but I’m glad Chat GPT helped me out of it.

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Vol IV: #69 Hard Not to Believe It’s Going To Shit

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This week I’m going my best to stay away from YouTube, my last remaining social media account. And, it’s a hard task to complete. YouTube has worship music, football highlights, cooking vids, animals, and plenty of funny people. And for that, I love it. But, like a bad girlfriend, the positives aren’t outweighing the negatives. Not at this point in my life. I’m just not disciplined enough to limit my watching to only the good stuff.

And in all honesty, the biggest reason I left YouTube was because I’ve felt more hopeless than ever, after each political clip or social commentary. The sky is falling? Right? According to loud mouthed liberals and whack job conservatives, yes, it is. And while we face tremendous hurdles, I find no solace in the complaining rants of content creators, no matter how good their intentions are. And since YouTube (and Google) are intent on serving me the most “consumable” content, complaining rants is all I’m gonna get. Plus, I’m tired of “random” pro-atheist videos popping in my feed. Like I just listened to worship for an hour, why do you think I want to listen to Ricard Dawkins? (That’s intentional, the atheist stuff. The moral values of the folks at Google are painfully, obviously anti-Christian, not indifferent. To this point, I don’t use Chrome as my web browser or Google search. The results are censored.)

The very fact Google knowingly and openly censors search results is enough feel gloomy and hopeless. What are we to do? Who can we trust? When will western society collapse in on itself? These are all questions I’ve asked myself over the last year. Thankfully, I don’t need an answer to any of those questions. I don’t need Google or endless videos because I’m rooted in something else. And by stepping away from idiots websites, I can face my Hope. And, I embrace whatever comes. Should western society fall, we will rise to form something new.

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Vol IV: #68 Summer Come Early

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June is usually a fun month in Redding. The days start early and leave late, and are long with sun. It’s warm but not hot. And it’s not uncommon to be graced by a shower or two. I’ve grown accustomed to enjoying June as best I can, knowing July will arrive with its unrelenting furnace of summer. Unfortunately, the 2024 version of June is nothing more than July dressed up like the last month of Spring, unable to hide its heat and contempt for clouds and rain.

Almost surprisingly, I’m not mad about it. Disappointed, but not angry. How can I be? Railing against the weather makes as much sense asking a dog to be a turtle or going to McDonalds for a salad. I’m choosing to embrace this early start to summer. The hundred day clock in my head helps. From today, it will end on the first official day of autumn, when the days will be almost four hours shorter and the heat will have eased. And expect my life to have changed a good bit by then as well. I’ll be back in school, at Shasta Community, working a new job, and nearly finished with my novel.

Here’s to a good summer. I’m planning to go to lake more than in the past. Hope it helps.

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Vol IV: #67 Ship It

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In my attempt to complete my work, I recently began to published rough drafts. You may have noticed. If not, go read #65 and #66. Each is unfinished and unsatisfying, to me. And the reason I posted them is simple: I need to get in the habit of shipping my work rather than try to perfect it.

This concept comes from the godfather of modern marketing, Seth Godin. Since his hay day with Yahoo, he’s taught lot of people to “just ship it and move on.” And that’s what I’m doing. I want to publish my work rather than let it sit for weeks. And if that work is unorganized, so be it. This blog costs me $28/month, I can do what I want. Besides, don’t we love to see work in progress? I do.

Cheers.

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Vol IV: #66 Head in the Clouds

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Publishing this because I need it out of my Drafts. It’s a collection of observational thoughts rather than a story. All I really wanted to communicate is: Clouds are a small part but wondrous detail of life on our planet.

Over the last six weeks, I’ve developed an obsession with clouds. I’ve stood outside and stared at them, taken pictures, and used my finger to follow the outline of the various puffy shapes in sky. I’m not sure what I look like to the neighbors, but I hope they are amused. My goal is to make use of real live examples while I have them. Late March through mid-May is the best time of year to observe clouds, when they billow and streak across the sky on a regular basis. By late May they’ll be all gone, replaced by the occasional thin wisp during the hot summer months.

I’ve recently learned the of importance of blue ozone and light are to how perceive a cloud. Both sky and sun reveal texture, depth, and shape. And not only that, they provide perspective. The best time of day to cloud watch is early or late as the sun is low on the horizon and the angular sunlight casts deep, colorful shadows. And, of course, not all clouds are the same. Some are thing and formless, preferring to hang out high in the sky, while others are thick and low. The truth is each cloud is unique, like finger print or snow flake. And this uniqueness challenges me in my attempt to replicate them.

After all, what does a cloud really look like? The answer starts with “what type of cloud” then progresses to angle of the sun, air temperature, and time of year.

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Vol IV: #65 Humility

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I’ve given this post two previous attempts (both below.) And my only point is humility is good and pride is bad. Humility opens doors and creates opportunities. Pride keeps me from enjoying the little wins, whispers that’s not good enough and your not good enough. It pushes me to “rush the groove” and over complicate small details, while sneering and mocking me, you can’t go back to waiting tables you loser.

But, thankfully, humility is a power with two heads. The first is honesty and the second is hope. In being honest with myself and the Lord, I find the strength to say “I need help.” And it looks like going back to school at age 43(soon to be 44) to learn a new skill, writing one paragraph at time rather than pages per day, and taking timelines off the table. Truth is, if I focus on myself and continue to beat the darkness, I won’t get anywhere. I’ve got to accept where I am and build, one day at a time. It’s a tough task. I feel like most of what I want in life is slipping away. But, thankfully, that’s a damn lie. Remember, humility is a beauty with two heads, the other being hope. And hope believes in redemption and grace.

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#1. A few months back, I spent an hour listening to a grown man wallow in self-pity. He faced a tough reality and didn’t like his choices. And, rather than rise to occasion, he decided to bitch and moan like a helpless fawn stuck in the mud. By the end of the chat, I wanted to smack his balls with a hammer and tell him to wake up. But, I refrained. People slopping around in self-centered despair typically don’t respond well to a personal challenge. The confrontation becomes “one more thing” for the them to whine about. Besides, I know that nasty devil as well as anyone. Once he’s got your ear, he goes for your heart, pulling us deeper into paralyzing fear.

What my friend lacked is humility.

#2. Without regret, I set myself some mighty high goals for 2024. I waned this year to be the best year of my life. But, for anyone keeping score, I’m well behind. Progress has been painfully uneven and slow, and I’ve been forced to adjust. (And adjust.) The initial plan I created- a painfully detailed, day by day map- was scraped after February. And I had to drop the two business ideas(one in marketing and another in plant sales.) Thankfully, the novel is still on track to be finished this year. And more recently, I enrolled in Shasta Community College to earn a certification in professional welding, which wasn’t part of the plan at all.

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Vol IV: #64 Us vs Them

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Of the myriad of offensive trends of the last five years, I hate the “ok, boomer” trend. Mostly, I hate the judgement of that generation or any generation. And it’s always the same shit. The old people are too stuck in their ways while the young people are lazy and entitled. Right? Isn’t that what’s been said since the beginning? From my seat, my generation has too many issues to go around being a dick to everyone else. (Technically, I’m Gen-X, but I act and possess values more similar to Millennials. Regardless of my proper place, my previous sentiment is applicable to either group.)

I think we are scared little shits, to be frank. When faced with uncertainty, we predictability choose to fight or run, or freeze. And there is a time to fight and time to run. But we aren’t that wise. We do drugs and blame authorities, deflecting our responsibility. I heard it in the voice of friend today, but it might as well have been me. We also avoid going out in public and conflict of any kind. So when the moment comes, the inevitable bumps of life, we are completely unprepared to thrive. And gratitude? Joy? Sacrifice? Yeah buddy, fuck that. Nope, we are in our lates 30s and 40s, still blaming our parents and teachers, pastors and preachers. We love our drugs and our subscriptions, our deliveries and good intentions. And we will refuse to be wise, damnit.

Yes, the baby boomers made their mistakes. They gave us drugs- both legal and illegal-, high fructose corn syrup, and STDs. And don’t get me going on disco and bell bottoms. But, they know what sacrifice is. They knew how to go to work and provide for a family. And I think it’s time we cut them some slack. So, for my people, we’ve got to many problems to go around point out the flaws in everyone else.

Lord, I pray for courage. Courage to follow your lead, away from our addictions and self-pity. Toward wisdom and grace.

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Vol IV: #63 Protesting Hypocrites

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The conflict between Israel and Palestine is gut-wrenching and complicated. And I see the pain both sides carry, yet I do not understand why they continue to lash out at each other. Better asked, can’t they see how violence leads to more violence? I hit you because you hit me and you hit me because I hit you. Sounds like how me and my sister argued as kids. And the strong dominates the weak. Just how it is. What I do not understand is the logic and values we see coming from universities across the United States. I’ve seen protestors chant “death to colonizers” and “from the river to the see,” among many disturbing sentiments. And I wonder if they know: We are colonizers too.

If we back up to last October, this latest war began when Hamas (not to be confused with average Palestinian) invaded Israel and slaughtered thousands Israelis. The operation demonstrated a high level of planning and execution. With this in mind I’d like to ask Freshman Johnny Dumbdick would you support the invasion of your precious college campus by Native Americans? Are you to support the murder of thousands of your fellow students? The answer- if they dare answer- is of course not. And who would?

As I stated above, the real flaw is labeling Israel colonizers, deserving of death. If they truly believe that, then the most logical step would be to buy one-way tickets to the country of their DNA. White? Get yo’ ass back to the European country most represented in your genes. Black? Pick any country in west Africa you like. I hear Ghana is doing well. Chinese…sorry, you gotta go back and live under Xi. Etc. Each person leaves until there’s no one here but people with Native DNA. All ten million of them. Because whether you’re white or not, you are living under a country descended and continually benefitting from colonization. Right? So, stop being hypocrites, buy your ticket and leave. Go enjoy lower standards of living, repressive governments, and less rights. If the people of Israel don’t have right to their homeland, neither do we.

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Vol IV: #62 Thursday Rant

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I hate being asked the same question when my answer has been nothing but consistent. Usually, no. (I hate it so much that whenever I find a women willing to marry me I will not marry her until she understands. I’d rather die alone than married to a nagging woman.) And I take it upon myself to set the record straight with offending individuals who did not intend to offend. But once I’ve said my piece I expect change. The loving/respectful souls sort themselves out quickly and honor my request. The hardheads and dipshits bumble on, shocked when they find they are no longer part of my inner circle.

My life would be easier if I were more chill, but that’s not who I am. When a friend continually mentions taking a trip to LA or suggests a meal I know they won’t attempt to make, I start to feel pressured. My shields go up and I practice yelling at them, zinging them and driving my point across with great force and eloquence. Why? I don’t know. Some people are better at rolling with the intolerable demands of others. I am not. (At least, not yet.) I have to step back, go for a walk and beg Jesus for forgiveness. Then I practice a stern but more kind version of what I’m going to say the next time they ask.

Admittedly, I don’t like feeling this way or confessing how angry I become. It’s silly. I’m silly. But also, I’m asking the offender to stop pestering me. And while I am a hypocrite in many areas of life, on this I am steady. Why can’t they be more chill and move on, Chinese water torture someone else with your expectations.

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Vol IV: #61 Sons and Grief

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I’ll never forget my weeping grandmother, her body slumped over a gray casket just before they lowered her youngest son into the ground. Through her tears, she cried “not my baby” as heavy raindrops fell. It was grief in it’s purest form, the suffering groan of her soul. And if you think it’s bad enough to lose a son so young, consider this: her baby boy, the last child of her womb, was the last of three she buried. On that day dreary, even at ten, I knew her tears and sorrow came from deeper place, one labeled “not again.”

Young men are reckless and stupid. And in our recklessness we try drugs, drive too fast, and misuse firearms. My uncle died from the head injuries sustained when he run his Ford Probe into a tree on a dark rocky country road. The hood had doubled back onto the vehicle, smashing the roof. That image kept me from trying alcohol for a long time, but not completely. Didn’t keep me from driving drunk and wondering how I got home. And to this day, I’m thankful I made it out of my early twenties. Thankful my mother and father didn’t have to plan my funeral too.

Why am I writing all this? Because, last week, another young man in my orbit, another early twenty something, died. And it’s sad, and nothing can make it alright. Not even the logic of knowing how young men are. His mother doesn’t care about all the other dumb boys. She asking all questions a mother asks, and grieving as she should. And I’m writing this because I’m tired of men dying and the reaction being one of passive acceptance. Young men don’t die like this in other developed countries, not at these rates and ways. And as a result, the life expectancy for men is dropping and it’s dropping fast.

This post isn’t the place for me to air my grievances with our culture or society, though they are legion. That’s for another day. (Public schools, I’m staring directly at you. You soul destroying pack of cats.) No. This post is about me trying to process some long held grief. When my uncle died, I cried for him. And this week I cried for all the mothers and fathers left to grieve.

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