Reflections on Motivation, Discipline, and the Art of Just Starting
It’s 11:47 on a Tuesday night, and once again, I find myself “researching” instead of writing. Three tabs are open on my browser, two podcasts queued up, and a notebook lies beside me—empty. For about six weeks, I’ve been telling myself that I will start a new piece as soon as I feel ready. At thirty-five years old, I’ve been pulling this same trick on myself in one form or another since I was about twenty-two.
Eventually, I close the tabs and write a sentence. It’s not a good sentence. But it’s the first honest thing I’ve done all evening, and it prompts me to reflect on all the other evenings, weeks, and years I’ve spent doing the dressed-up version of nothing.
Before diving deeper, a quick caveat: I’m not a coach, therapist, or credentialed productivity expert. I’m simply a person in his mid-thirties sharing what I wish I had understood a decade earlier. Take what’s useful and discard the rest.
The Two Things I Used to Think Were the Same
For years, I conflated motivation and discipline, believing them to be the same. In my early twenties, while working in finance, I’d wake up on a Monday feeling energized for the week ahead. I’d write lists, plan workouts, and promise myself this would be the week I’d finally start that side project, read more, or stop scrolling my phone late at night.
By Wednesday, a different person emerged. The motivation that buoyed me on Monday vanished, and with it, the plan dissolved.
At the time, I blamed everything but the real culprit: relying solely on motivation—a fleeting feeling—to push me through challenging tasks. Motivation is inherently unstable; it fluctuates like all emotions.
Discipline, however, is fundamentally different.
Discipline is about doing what needs doing regardless of feelings, circumstances, or distractions. Whether the sun is shining, whether you slept well, or whether your inbox is overflowing, discipline means showing up. Brian Tracy, in his book No Excuses! The Power of Self-Discipline, defines it as doing what needs to be done when it needs to be done, whether you feel like it or not.
Looking back, I see how true this is. The seasoned professionals I admired—those who kept writing books or training for marathons well into their forties—did not rely on bursts of motivation. They simply showed up, consistently.
For much of my twenties, I misunderstood this vital distinction and waited around for the elusive feeling of motivation.
Waiting to “Feel Ready”
The challenge with waiting to feel ready is that it often masquerades as productivity. You can read books, listen to podcasts, buy gear, sign up for courses, watch videos, and daydream in vivid detail. Throughout, you tell yourself you’re doing the work.
I lived like this for years. When I considered starting a business, I convinced myself I needed more experience and stayed in finance. When I thought about moving from Ireland, I told myself I needed more savings and stayed put. When I dreamed of writing professionally, I told myself I needed to be a better writer first—and so I didn’t write.
Each excuse sounded reasonable at the time but seems far less so now.
The hard truth I learned is this: you don’t gain experience by reading about it. Experience comes from doing the thing, imperfectly at first, then gradually better.
Running a language school taught me this lesson most clearly. On day one, I had no idea what I was doing—never managed a team or designed a curriculum before. But starting gave me the insights and experience to improve. Had I waited to feel “ready,” I never would have begun.
The Lie Underneath It All
Reflecting now, I realize “I’m not ready yet” was never truly about preparation. It was fear—fear of looking foolish, fear of failing despite effort, fear that the dream would prove less glamorous than I imagined.
“Feeling ready” was a story I told myself to make avoidance seem responsible. It’s a clever trick because no one argues with it. If you say you’re not ready, people nod sympathetically and rarely push back. But if you admitted, “I’m scared and doing nothing,” you might face pressure to act.
I’ve come to understand that you don’t become ready and then start; you start and gradually become ready.
What Just Starting Actually Looks Like
In practice, “just start” is far less inspiring than it sounds on a sunset Instagram post.
For me, it looks like sitting down to write a bad first sentence when I have no idea what to say. That’s the strategy—put the bad sentence on the page so better ones have something to follow.
When I want to return to the gym after weeks off, I don’t plan a perfect six-week regimen. I just put on my shoes and go. The session may be short and unsatisfying, but the point isn’t the workout—it’s being someone who shows up.
When I want to play golf but haven’t swung a club in a while, I don’t wait to warm up perfectly. I book the round and accept the first few holes will be rough.
When making changes in business, I don’t wait for the perfect quarter. I send the email, have the conversation, and do the small task I’ve been postponing.
None of this requires motivation. It requires about ninety seconds of refusing to negotiate with yourself—basically the entire game.
Mark Manson articulated this well in The “Do Something” Principle, writing: “Action isn’t just the effect of motivation, but also the cause of it.” You don’t wait for motivation to act; you act, and the action creates motivation that fuels more action. For years, I had this backwards.
What I’d Tell My Younger Self
If you’re reading this and are younger than me, take it from someone who has wasted enough time for both of us. You don’t need to feel ready. You don’t need a perfect plan, the right week, a fresh notebook, or a clear head. You don’t need motivation. Motivation is unreliable, and waiting for it is a polite way of doing nothing.
What you need is to start. Starting is much smaller and less glamorous than people make it out to be. It’s simply doing the thing today, even if it’s badly, even if you’re tired or scared.
Yet, the honest admission as I sit here now is that maybe discipline isn’t so different from motivation. Perhaps it’s just a quieter, less insistent form of waiting—waiting to feel like the kind of person who shows up, waiting for the ninety-second window to open. Maybe the real progress is that the waiting has softened.
I don’t know. But I think I’ll write that bad sentence anyway and see what happens.
Source: Here
