When I was in high school, I wanted one thing:
To be the leading man in a punk rock band.
Or so I thought.
When I wasn’t strumming power chords alone in my room, I was watching hours of live performances by Blink 182, Green Day, or Sum 41.
I wanted to dye my hair black. I wanted a lip ring. I wanted a tattoo sleeve.
I wore long black socks up to my knees, sagged my shorts so they looked like capris, and did everything I could to emulate Tom Delonge. I even tried to talk like him at times.
A few best friends and I started a band and would play all of my favorite pop punk songs.
I dreamed of being on stage and performing in front of thousands of people.
The funny thing was, when it actually came time to go to our drummer’s house for band practice, I would count the minutes until it was over.
Practice was hard. It wasn’t sexy. There were no fans screaming our names.
I really wanted to get better at guitar. Better at singing. Better at landing gigs…
Then, whenever I had opportunities to do any of these, the Resistance would be too great and I would do nothing instead.
That’s when I realized:
I liked the idea of being a rockstar more than I actually wanted to be one.
It’s pretty easy to figure this out with whatever your aspirations are. Just take whatever you want to do/be/pursue. Then hold it up next to the actions you take each and every day.
Is it really important to me to get good at guitar if I never practice scales, chords, or challenge myself?
Is it really important to me to be in great physical shape if I never work out and eat whatever I want?
Is it really important to me to foster healthy relationships if I never reach out to those I care about most?
What do you want to do? Who do you want to be?
What are you doing consistently to make that a reality? This will show you if it’s what you really want, or if you’re just chasing the idea of it.
Putting it in your Twitter bio won’t make it a reality.
Just like playing I Miss You for the thousandth time won’t make you a rockstar.
You have to sit down and do the boring, unsexy work. Every. Single. Day.