I recently read Steven Pressfield’s book: The War of Art. I heartily recommend the book for lots of reasons.
One of the ideas Pressfield proffers is this: we are all living two lives – the one we’re living and the unlived one within us. Resistance is what makes the difference.
Resistance lives in the middle and will do everything it can to prevent us for achieving our dreams.
As Pressfield says, you know what Resistance is, if:
Have you ever brought home a treadmill and let it gather dust in the attic? Ever quit a diet, a course of yoga, a meditation practice? Have you ever bailed out on a call to embark upon a spiritual practice, dedicate yourself to a humanitarian calling, commit your life to the service of others? Have you ever wanted to be a mother, a doctor, an advocate for the weak and helpless; to run for office, crusade for the planet, campaign for world peace, or to preserve the environment?
When I first read this, I started to smile because I understood immediately.
When I start a book, Resistance hovers near the ceiling, a green scaly monster that drips slime on me. When I’m close to finishing a book, Resistance appears under my desk, whispering doubts: “It’s horrible. Call your editor and ask for a long extension while you learn to write.”
I have learned to recognize Resistance when it appears. I’ve decided to give it a persona like one of the Grimm monsters and when I see it, I mentally kill it.
How about you? Have you ever read Pressfield’s book? Are there times Resistance comes in and makes himself at home? (I encounter him at least once a day.)