“Hi everyone, thank you for calling on me, all of you for your service, and everyone for choosing to be here today. My name is Lily and I am an alcoholic and an addict. As for why this works for me? I do not know. I can say it’s because of that ‘God-sized hole in my heart’ or maybe because I have a spiritual malady. It’s so many things but I know that whatever I tried before didn’t give me the peace of mind I have right now. I cannot fathom what my life could be like otherwise, and don’t want to. I wish I could walk you through a recording of what falling asleep in 2019 looked like. Because you see I have had “so-dryety” for what, 2014-2022? And it was not a nice time in my life. It was miserable. I can’t remember all of the things I did but aside from being miserable to be around I hurt myself like never before. Nothing to cover up my inability to find peace and not knowing how to find peace where I was. I want that agenda. God should give it me. I will continue waiting. But until then I will do what makes me feel good. What makes me smile. Saying I love you. Listening. Camera off. Sometimes speaking. Saying ‘I have no idea where this is going but…’ and then ‘I’m going to go ahead and pass… would you like to share with us tonight are you available?’.
For the record, Dr. Silkworth, you called it the phenomenon of craving. It is. I have an experience and it fits and then I cannot stop because I continue to believe it’s possible to reach again when it’s not. Like an alergy? Yeah, I simply don’t react to it like other people. I don’t know what it’s like to have fun drunk. I never had a good time but I did it. A lot of it. And then added more things, substracted things, had extra amounts of that and then one day said I’ll stop and did. ‘This is an open-meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous, ‘this is closed meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous.’ ‘I am sorry if you are here to observe for your course, this is a closed meeting of AA there are 24 hour open meetings all over the world try this number this url and you can find one. We’re sorry but this is a safe space for individuals who have a desire to stop drinking and stay sober.’ ‘Well, then give yourselves, your high power, and anyone you find pertinent to your sobriety and program a hand for the chips that you do hold or are working on.’ ‘If we can have a moment of silence for the still sick and sufferring both inside and outside of the rooms, and everyone caiught in the way of this horrible disease through no fault of their own – followed by the 7th Step Prayer: My Creator, I am now willing that You should have all of me, good and bad. I pray that You now remove from me every single defect of character which stands in the way of my usefulness to you and my fellows. Grant me strength, as I go out from here, to do Your bidding.Amen.‘
It is a few days late. On June 10, 2025 Alcoholics Anonymous made 90 years of continuously “helping” people. I am not going into “saved my life” or “changed my life” or “I have a life because of AA.” It has created space, held space, in many ways. It’s been difficult, and trying, and picks at you, it even disregards the scabs because in the end they don’t matter. Here’s Dr. Bob’s Farewell Letter. “Who wouldv’t thunk it!” “Thanks to the benefits of this fellowship I have not had the desire or needed to pick up a drink today.” And there is a lot of weight behind that statement. A drink does a lot. It does so much. It does too much. “Drinking was only but a symptom. We had to get down to causes and conditions” (AAWS, 2012).
Let’s be honest for a second. How many times have you scrolled through social media, seen those perfectly curated “rise and grind” posts, and thought, “Why can’t I just be motivated like that?”
I get it. We’ve all been there, staring at our to-do lists, waiting for that magical burst of motivation to hit us like lightning. Spoiler alert: it rarely works that way.
Here’s the thing about motivation that nobody talks about
Motivation isn’t something that just happens to you. It’s not a personality trait you’re either born with or without. It’s actually something you can create, cultivate, and control. But first, you need to understand what motivation really is.
Think of motivation like a fire. You wouldn’t just sit in front of an empty fireplace waiting for flames to appear, right? You’d gather kindling, strike a match, and tend to it. Motivation works the same way.
So how do you actually create motivation?
Start ridiculously small. I’m talking embarrassingly small. Want to exercise? Start by putting on your workout clothes. Want to write? Open a document and write one sentence. The goal isn’t to complete the task perfectly – it’s to create momentum. Success breeds success, and even tiny wins count.
Connect to your why, but make it personal. Not the generic “I want to be successful” why. The real one. The one that makes you a little uncomfortable when you think about it. Maybe it’s proving something to yourself, or creating a different life for your kids, or simply refusing to settle for mediocrity. That discomfort? That’s where real motivation lives.
Create friction for the things you don’t want to do, and remove it for the things you do. Want to eat healthier? Don’t rely on willpower – remove the junk food from your house. Want to read more? Put the book on your pillow so you see it before bed. Design your environment to work with you, not against you.
Track your progress visually. There’s something powerful about seeing your progress mapped out. Whether it’s crossing days off a calendar, filling in a habit tracker, or just writing down three things you accomplished each day – make your progress visible.
Find your motivation style. Some people are motivated by competition, others by collaboration. Some need external accountability, others thrive on internal challenges. Some are motivated by avoiding pain, others by pursuing pleasure. There’s no right or wrong way – just your way.
The motivation myth that’s holding you back
Here’s what most people get wrong: they think motivation should feel good all the time. They think it’s supposed to be this constant state of excitement and energy. But real motivation often feels more like determination than excitement. It’s the quiet voice that says “I’m doing this anyway” when everything else is screaming to quit.
The most motivated people I know aren’t the ones bouncing off the walls with enthusiasm. They’re the ones who show up consistently, especially when they don’t feel like it.
Your motivation toolkit
Start with these three things this week:
Pick one tiny habit and commit to it for seven days. Make it so small you can’t fail.
Write down your real why – the one that makes you a little uncomfortable. Keep it somewhere you’ll see it daily.
Design one small environmental change that makes a good habit easier or a bad habit harder.
But here’s what I really want you to know…
While motivation is incredibly important and absolutely something you can create, it’s not the endgame. It’s not your life’s purpose or your reason for being.
There’s something deeper, more sustainable, and more fulfilling than motivation alone. The Japanese have a word for it: Ikigai. And understanding the difference between motivation and your Ikigai might just change everything about how you approach your goals and your life.
Stay tuned – next week, I’m diving deep into why motivation isn’t your Ikigai, and what that means for creating a life that doesn’t just get you moving, but gets you moving in the right direction.
What’s your biggest motivation challenge right now? Drop a comment and let’s figure it out together.
A strange realization has been lingering in my mind for some time now—a recognition that most of my thoughts are not based on reality. Not really. They are based on my subjective experiences, a knowledge base constructed by me, not necessarily by truth.
I used to assume that what I thought must be, in some way, a reflection of reality. That my perceptions, opinions, and gut feelings had some validity simply because they existed within me. But I’ve come to see that most of what arises in my mind is just that—arising. Not from an objective, factual foundation but from a lifetime of conditioning, biases, and influences that I have absorbed without much scrutiny.
The Subjectivity of Thought
Most of my thoughts are automatic. They pop up without permission, shaped by my past experiences, the stories I’ve been told, and my adopted interpretations. But how many of those thoughts are true? How many are simply echoes of things I’ve heard or assumed rather than reflections of reality?
Even deeper, I must ask: what is “truth” anyway? So much of what I know—or instead, what I think I know—comes from human-made structures: books written by people with their own biases, cultural narratives shaped by power and historical convenience, and scientific theories that are constantly evolving. Even facts, in how we think of them, are subject to change when better tools or perspectives emerge.
If my thoughts arise from this shifting, subjective landscape, then how can I trust them?
The Mind as a Filter, Not a Mirror
I used to believe that my mind was a mirror of reality, reflecting things as they are. But now I see that it is more of a filter that distorts, colors, and reshapes everything it processes.
My thoughts are dark and cynical if I am in a bad mood. If I am happy, everything appears lighter and more hopeful. The same situation can feel entirely different based on my emotional state, my level of fatigue, or even what I ate that day. How can I trust my immediate thoughts when they are so easily swayed?
Even memory, something we tend to rely on as a source of truth, is deeply unreliable. Every time we recall something, we reshape it slightly, filtering it through who we are now rather than who we were then. The brain fills in gaps, alters details, and reinforces whatever narrative we already believe.
Living in a Constructed Reality
Beyond my own personal thoughts, the world I live in—the ideas I take for granted, the values I uphold, the rules I follow—are all human constructs. Money, laws, morality, social norms, identity itself… all are ideas that we, as a species, agreed upon.
I once thought knowledge was a ladder, something we climb to reach a higher, more objective understanding. But now, I see it more as a web—an interconnected mass of ideas, stories, and beliefs, none of which can ever be fully isolated from human subjectivity.
What Do I Do With This Awareness?
Where does that leave me if I cannot trust my thoughts? It would be easy to fall into nihilism, to say, “If nothing is certain, then nothing matters.” But instead, I see this realization as freeing.
It means I don’t have to take every thought seriously. Just because a thought arises does not mean it is true, meaningful, or worth engaging with. I can observe my mind with detachment, recognizing when it feeds me outdated beliefs, irrational fears, or baseless assumptions.
It also means I can be open to change. If my mind is not a fixed, reliable source of truth, then I do not have to be a slave to my past beliefs. I can question. I can unlearn. I can recognize that the reality I experience is not necessarily the reality and that there is always more to discover beyond my thinking.
I cannot trust my own thoughts. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe the real wisdom lies in trusting them and knowing when to let them go.
Mr. William G. Wilson Alcoholics Anonymous Box 459 Grand Central Station New York 17, N.Y.
Dear Mr. Wilson, Your letter has been very welcome indeed.
I had no news from Roland H. anymore and often wondered what has been his fate. Our conversation which he had adequately reported to you had an aspect of which he did not know. The reason, that I could not tell him everything, was that those days I had to be exceedingly careful of what I said. I had found out that I was misunderstood in every possible way. Thus I was very careful when I talked to Roland H. But what I really thought about, was the result of many experiences with men of his kind.
His craving for alcohol was the equivalent on a low level of the spiritual thirst of our being for wholeness, expressed in medieval language: the union with God.
How could one formulate such an insight in a language that is not misunderstood in our days?
The only right and legitimate way to such an experience is, that it happens to you in reality and it can only happen to you when you walk on a path, which leads you to a higher understanding. You might be led to that goal by an act of grace or through a personal and honest contact with friends, or through a higher education of the mind beyond the confines of mere rationalism. I see from your letter that Roland H. has chosen the second way, which was, under the circumstances, obviously the best one.
I am strongly convinced that the evil principle prevailing in this world, leads the unrecognized spiritual need into perdition, if it is not counteracted either by a real religious insight or by the protective wall of human community. An ordinary man, not protected by an action from above and isolated in society cannot resist the power of evil, which is called very aptly the Devil. But the use of such words arouse so many mistakes that one can only keep aloof from them as much as possible.
These are the reasons why I could not give a full and sufficient explanation to Roland H. but I am risking it with you because I conclude from your very decent and honest letter, that you have acquired a point of view above the misleading platitudes, one usually hears about alcoholism.
You see, Alcohol in Latin is “spiritus” and you use the same word for the highest religious experience as well as for the most depraving poison. The helpful formula therefore is: spiritus contra spiritum.
I truly enjoyed reading this, and it resonates so well. I may not require, expect, measure, opinionate, or judge. But the moment I question something, even what I believe can be good, I am starting to put myself in the way. Me needs to be out. And so, this is the beginning of letters. A project I’m beginning soon. With love…
It hit me during a quiet morning last week. The sun was barely up, painting the sky in those gentle colors that make everything look softer, more forgiving. I was thinking about my recent interactions—with you, my colleagues, even my neice—when that thought surfaced: how much of my responses to them were genuinely about them, and how much were just echoes of my own preconceptions, fears, and desires?
You see, I’ve always prided myself on being a good listener, an empathetic friend, a caring partner. But lately, I’ve begun to notice something unsettling. In conversations, while others are speaking, I’m often not really hearing them—I’m hearing my interpretation of them. I’m hearing the story I’ve already written about who they are, what they think, what they need.
“Let me put a little bit more of you, where there is still only me.”
The phrase came to me like a gentle awakening. It made me realize how often I fill spaces that should be reserved for understanding others with my own narratives, assumptions, and projections. When my friend tells me about their struggles, how quickly do I jump to comparing it to my own experiences? When my partner shares their dreams, how soon do I start reshaping them to fit into my vision of our future?
It’s not that sharing our own experiences or having personal reactions is wrong—it’s human, natural even. But there’s a difference between relating to someone and overwriting their reality with our own. It’s like I’ve been painting over other people’s canvases with my own colors, all while believing I was appreciating their art.
The most challenging part? Recognizing that this isn’t just about my relationships with others—it’s about my relationship with myself too. How much of who I think I am is actually me, and how much is a collection of responses to what I think others expect me to be? Sometimes I wonder if I’ve filled myself so completely with performances of who I should be that I’ve left little room for who I am.
This morning, I tried something different. When my neighbor stopped to chat about their garden, instead of immediately sharing my own gardening stories or offering advice, I just… listened. Really listened. Tried to understand their experience as uniquely theirs, not as a reflection or extension of my own. It felt strange at first, like learning to use a muscle I didn’t know I had. But in that space—that conscious, intentional space of truly hearing another person—something shifted.
The irony doesn’t escape me: that in trying to put more of others where there was only me, I might actually be discovering more of my authentic self. Because maybe the real me isn’t the collection of stories, reactions, and preconceptions I’ve built up over the years. Maybe the real me is the awareness that can observe all of that and choose, moment by moment, to make space for something new.
It’s a practice now, this gentle reminder: “Let me put a little bit more of you, where there is still only me.” In conversations, in relationships, in quiet moments alone. It’s about creating space—in my mind, in my heart, in my understanding of both myself and others. It’s about recognizing that every interaction is an opportunity to either reinforce the walls of my existing perspective or to open a window to something new.
This journey feels both unsettling and liberating. Unsettling because it means acknowledging how much of my perception of others has been filtered through my own needs and fears. Liberating because in making space for others to be truly themselves, I’m also making space for myself to be more authentic, more present, more real.
So here’s to the practice of making space. To catching ourselves in those moments when we’re about to fill the silence with our own noise. To the courage it takes to let others be fully themselves, even when—especially when—their truth doesn’t match our expectations. To putting a little bit more of you, where there has been only me.
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