In college, I discovered Dr. Eric Thomas—a motivational speaker dubbed “ET the HipHop Preacher” who began growing a following through his Thank God It’s Monday series on YouTube.
Dr. Thomas’s story is made for Hollywood. During his late teens, he found himself homeless and eating out of trashcans. It then took him 12 years to earn his Bachelor’s degree. Now, he finds himself earning six figures per speech in front of professional sports teams and Fortune 500 companies.
One of Thomas’s most popular taglines is: “No alarm clock needed. My passion wakes me.” He has always held the belief that if you want something bad enough, your body is going to jump out of bed every morning without any assistance from your alarm clock.
I ate Dr. Thomas’s words up for years—always wondering what would spark my mind and body to experience such motivation.
Fast forward to 2016 (about four years later). It’s 3:00am. I pop out of bed in my 450 sq. ft. studio apartment in Washington DC, walk 20 feet to my couch, open my laptop, and begin typing away.
For a little over three months, this was my reality. I was living and breathing Dr. Thomas’s teachings. I was living in a strange, alternative, one-dimensional reality where I was eating, sleeping, and breathing a desire to become a full-time, paid writer.
From the outside looking in, the work I put in to create a website and build a writing portfolio would no doubt be celebrated as “hard” work. But, I can’t emphasize strongly enough that it was anything but.
The reason why allows us to complete our three-part exploration of what makes something “easy.”
During those three months, I was motivated by a specific outcome—to go from a recent college grad with a degree in economics and a job as a data analyst to a writer, preferably for a non-profit.
It was so much more than that though.
I was further motivated by the belief that my writing could have a direct impact on the daily lives of others. This impact-focused mindset made everything I did over the course of those three months remarkably easy.
When we view “easy” through the lens of impact as opposed to effort, we can begin seeing how something that looks difficult to achieve is not seen as difficult by those who achieve it. Rather, they are putting the work in because they know the potential positive impact their work might have for themselves and, oftentimes, for others (e.g. the athlete who wants to buy their mom a house).
If they solely saw their work through an effort-based lens, they would never make progress. Nobody voluntarily engages in more effort for effort’s sake.
This is why something as unremarkable as cooking dinner can feel so hard some days and so easy other days.
On the “hard” days, the mind says “look at all this hard and difficult work we must do just to get some damn food in our bellies. Can we just order a pizza?” On the “easy” days, the mind says “look at the delicious and healthy food you are about to make for yourself (and your family). Let’s get started.”
This shift from effort to impact puts us in a brand new world even if the task itself hasn’t changed one bit.
I’ve never again experienced what I experienced during that three month period in 2016. At times, I’ve searched long and hard to find what would create such an impassioned shift. At other times, I’ve simply chalked it up to a certain youthfulness that I was on the tail-end of, and I have since shifted into a more stable and less vibrant self.
I know. A rather ridiculous thought for someone who hasn’t even hit 30 years yet. But, there is certainly an enormous difference between 25 and 29. Neither a good nor bad difference, but a difference nonetheless.
For me, to create this new distinction of easy—one that is infinite, fluid, and impact-focused—and apply it to the many curiosities I aim to explore, I believe I might unlock and make permanent that “no alarm clock needed” feeling. But, this time, in a way that is multi-dimensional and far less self-serving (those three months in 2016 were far less enjoyable for my partner who felt like I was almost completely absent even though I was two feet away from her).