Newsletter #8

Turning big ideas into reality or How alcoholics can help you find your purpose

Hi Subscriber First Name,

I’m an ideas person. I love new ideas.

I have a notebook full of great business ideas. Amazing book ideas. Unbelievable promotional ideas. I’ve spent many a wistful hour creating brand names, straplines, and logos for these ideas. I’ve even registered dozens of URLs so no one else can steal my idea before I get round to launching it.

But I never do get round to launching these ideas.

They remain as ideas. There in my notebook. Existing purely as words and scribbles and unused URLs. Never getting past the ‘great idea in theory’ stage.

That’s because I love new ideas. And dreaming up yet another new idea is much more appealing than the grim reality of turning an existing idea into reality.

I suspect I’m not the only one who is drawn to shiny, new ideas.

We all tend to gravitate toward exciting new beginnings. Something within us ignites when possibility stretches seamlessly before us. That’s because any new idea, any new project, any new endeavour appears effortlessly possible, flawless, and perfect when viewed from 30,000 feet.

At that height and distance it’s untouched by the inevitable complications that arise as you get into execution. Think about your next summer holiday for example. When you start planning it in April, all that comes to mind are the perfect sunsets, the beautiful beaches and the never-ending laughter you’ll have with your family. We don’t dwell on the delayed flights, the annoying beach flies, the sunburn, and the inevitable arguments about what to do each day. These are the realities that always unfold when we’re on holiday. Without fail.

This is important to remember. Because life doesn't happen at 30,000 feet. Ever. It only happens in the trenches of daily reality, where everything beautiful is also difficult.

Bearing the Burden What Remains Undone

These abandoned ideas and projects aren't merely unticked items on a list. They become weights we carry. Maybe not big weights. But each one represents a small broken promise to ourselves. Over time, the weight grows. The more unbroken promises, the more ideas left in notebooks, the more burdensome the weight becomes. Over time they form a dark cloud that could be thought of as the "tyranny of unfinished business" - a quiet anxiety that follows us through our days.

I felt this tyranny acutely two years ago this very week. I’d had the idea about The Habits of Happiness. I had an outline for a book. I’d created some content for an online course. I had a name for the business I’d create. And yes, I had obviously registered the URL. I had been flirting with these ideas for a couple of years. Yet they all remained undone and in my notebook.

Surrounded by all this half-finished work, I noticed how heavy it all felt. Oppressive even. The more I left undone, the less confidence I had to make any of it real. The cycle perpetuated itself and it wasn’t at all pleasant.

Then one day something clicked. Or maybe something broke under the weight of unfinished business. Because on that day, rather than dream up yet another new, shiny idea, I decided I would turn an existing idea into reality. I decided to write the book. I decided to write every day.

I made a start. I started finishing.

That was two years ago. And here we are with that book now published, printed and available on Amazon. I’m using the brand name. I’ve created a 16-week programme. And even the URL is even being used.

My observation. Completion generates energy. Finishing something - even something small - creates a current that carries us forward. And the reverse holds equally true: incompletion drains us in ways we often fail to recognise.

The Nature of Life's Task

The book was a big thing for me for me. It felt like a calling. I believe there is a calling that exists in each of us. Something we might think of as a "life task" or a purpose. Not simply a job or a role, but a calling that resonates deeper than that. Something we feel drawn to do that emerges slowly over time. It needn’t be a big thing. But it’s usually an important thing. And we’ll feel it tugging strongly on our heart and soul. Again and again. The more we suppress that tugging, the heavier the burden of unfinished business we’ll feel.

A true life task carries two essential qualities. Firstly, it is difficult. It requires us to move beyond comfort into growth. But secondly, and crucially, it remains within our capabilities. It is challenging yet ultimately attainable. This tension defines meaningful purpose. Too easy, and it fails to transform us. Too difficult, and we abandon it entirely.

Your life task might be making a living by creating art that expresses your truth. It might be building a business to offer something useful to the world. Or perhaps it's the deeply personal work of recovery; healing from trauma or reconstructing a life free from addiction.

Whatever form it takes, viewed in its entirety from the very beginning, a life task can feel overwhelming. From 30,000 feet it’s always a great idea. But when it comes to actually doing this shit - it can be paralysing.

The Quiet Voice of Fear

Fear arrives the moment we seriously consider doing anything meaningful. We feel it as soon as we descend from 30,000 feet and come face to face with the reality of acting in the here and now. You could think of these fears as "gnawing rats" - anxious thoughts that nibble away at our resolve until we retreat to safety.

What if I fail? Who am I to attempt this? I don't have what it takes. It's too much.

Unfortunately, the gnawing rats love this hesitancy. They thrive on your worries and indecision. The more you put off your life task, the more you’ll sense them; nibbling away at your heart and soul.

These fears aren't evidence we've chosen wrongly. Often, they confirm we're moving toward something that matters deeply. The question isn't how to eliminate these fears, but how to continue despite them - or perhaps because of them.

Small Moments of Courage

I heard a story about a PHD student who had struggled with her final dissertation. She just couldn’t get into it at all. The more she put it off, the more difficult it became to start. The entire project had become a monolith of anxiety in her mind.

Then someone asked her, what could she commit to? What could she realistically do every day that felt achievable? As they talked through the options it emerged that committing to whole days of effort was just way too much. Three hours a day felt too much. So too did two hours. Even one hour a day felt overwhelming. So she settled on 15 minutes a day. That was all she could muster - 15 measly minutes a day.

But that was the breakthrough that made all the difference. That got her from idea into action. Grand promises weren’t the answer. Her humility was. Just fifteen minutes of focused work, without expectation, got her dissertation started. She started finishing. She accessed the energy of completion.

This approach transformed an impossible mountain into a series of tiny hills. Within months, her dissertation was complete.

I’ve experienced this same wisdom in the alcoholic recovery communities I’m involved in. The "one day at a time" philosophy may sound trite at first but it honours a profound truth: we can just about manage something difficult today that would seem impossible if we had to do it forever.

That was the biggest hurdle for me in tackling my addiction to alcohol; the thought that I’d never be able to drink again. I couldn’t go two hours without a drink so how would I cope with an entire lifetime without one. But fortunately I didn’t have to focus on never drinking again in my life. Instead, I could focus all my efforts entirely on not drinking for today. Tomorrow I could wake up and make the same manageable commitment again - if I wanted to. But that was tomorrow. All I needed to focus on was today.

When I started my journey towards sobriety I was handed a small card called ‘Just for Today’. It encouraged me to focus on all the things I could just about manage in the next few hours. This is the first piece of advice on that card;

"Just for today I will try to live through this day only, and not tackle my whole life problem at once. I can do something for twelve hours that would appal me if I felt that I had to keep it up for a lifetime."

I can’t tell you how important that piece of advice was in my first few shaky days and weeks of sobriety. It gave me hope. Life felt manageable. I had a chance. That advice has stuck with me ever since. I pinned the card to my wall in the kitchen. Not just a reminder to me but to the kids as well. And my mum still has the ‘Just for today’ card on the wall in the spare bedroom where I sleep.

Sure enough, days accumulated into weeks, weeks into months, and eventually I found myself living a life I once thought impossible - not through heroic willpower, but through humble, daily choice.

Finding Purpose Through Completion

This is exactly how I completed my book. One page at a time. One day at a time.

I started writing everyday. It was hard at first. Messy. Unwieldy. And not very enjoyable. But I stuck with it. One page at a time. One day at a time.

Before too long I had a chapter. Then I had two. Eighteen months later I had a first draft copy. Another six months on and it was available on Amazon.

And herein lies the paradox at the heart of tackling our life tasks and purpose: our most meaningful callings are accomplished through the smallest of daily actions. Our most profound work happens not in dramatic moments of inspiration, but in disciplined moments of showing up, day after day.

Purpose isn't something we discover like hidden treasure. It's something we build through completed actions, through finished efforts, through the patient accumulation of "done." Each completion, however modest, forms part of the foundation of a meaningful life.

The Beginning Is in the Ending

So where do we start? With completion itself.

Look around at what remains unfinished in your life. Choose something small. Finish it. Notice the gentle, satisfying energy that comes from bringing something to closure. Then choose another small thing. Complete that too.

As for your life task - that deeper purpose calling to you - just follow your curiosity and break it down until you find a task small enough to appease those gnawing rats. Something you could commit to doing on a daily basis.

Fifteen minutes. One page. A single phone call. A day without a drink.

Do it. Complete it. And repeat.

These small completions aren't separate from your larger purpose. They are the very path to it. The energy of finishing feeds forward into beginning. The confidence of completion becomes fuel for the journey ahead.

Even the most meaningful life unfolds one day at a time.

Just for today, what small step to greatness might you start to finish?

Until next time,

Simon