Monotony. Boredom. Routine. Pattern. Habit.
Have you ever watched ants build a mound?
It's actually pretty fascinating. So fascinating, in fact, companies have built toy ant farms for decades for us to simply watch them build and create. People buy them, still.
How fun! It's a guarantee you can watch, with your own eyes, a casual and yet defined process of tunnels, ramps, corridors and more from a group of unsuspecting workers, day in, day out.
In the beginning, it's subtle, it's basic.
Later, it intensifies and branches out, takes shape.
Finally, it blossoms into a full-blown, hyperactive community of builders, all working as a team to collaborate on something you couldn't have possibly predicted at the start.
You may have been able to explain, in approximation, what they would do, but you couldn't guess the end result.
Put up 100 ant farms, let them all rock'n roll, and check out 100 different, intricate highways of efficiency and purpose. Fascinating.
Are you an ant?
Should you want to be?
Where is the line dimming between working the process, and working because you feel you need to? Because it's what you're used to? Because it's getting more comfortable, habitual, routine?
Over time, even the most uncomfortable thing, when done over and again, becomes less so.
And, while it's so acclimating and productive, there are diminishing returns.
Within the ant farm, itself, there is only so much room. There is only so much dirt. There are only so many ways to build before something needs to be torn down in order to be reconstructed. But, then, it's only for the purpose of continuing to build.
In your own personal ant farm, how far can you go? How great can you make it? How can you tell if you're working for the destination, or just working away?
Know when to hit the reset button and start another ant farm.
Only work for true purpose.
There's a difference between working a process and a proclivity to work.
Have you ever watched ants build a mound?
It's actually pretty fascinating. So fascinating, in fact, companies have built toy ant farms for decades for us to simply watch them build and create. People buy them, still.
How fun! It's a guarantee you can watch, with your own eyes, a casual and yet defined process of tunnels, ramps, corridors and more from a group of unsuspecting workers, day in, day out.
In the beginning, it's subtle, it's basic.
Later, it intensifies and branches out, takes shape.
Finally, it blossoms into a full-blown, hyperactive community of builders, all working as a team to collaborate on something you couldn't have possibly predicted at the start.
You may have been able to explain, in approximation, what they would do, but you couldn't guess the end result.
Put up 100 ant farms, let them all rock'n roll, and check out 100 different, intricate highways of efficiency and purpose. Fascinating.
Are you an ant?
Should you want to be?
There's a difference between working a process and a proclivity to work.
Where is the line dimming between working the process, and working because you feel you need to? Because it's what you're used to? Because it's getting more comfortable, habitual, routine?
Over time, even the most uncomfortable thing, when done over and again, becomes less so.
And, while it's so acclimating and productive, there are diminishing returns.
Within the ant farm, itself, there is only so much room. There is only so much dirt. There are only so many ways to build before something needs to be torn down in order to be reconstructed. But, then, it's only for the purpose of continuing to build.
In your own personal ant farm, how far can you go? How great can you make it? How can you tell if you're working for the destination, or just working away?
Know when to hit the reset button and start another ant farm.
Only work for true purpose.
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