Eric Tian

As I’m typing this post, I have a sore throat, cough, fever and runny nose. I also have lost my sense of smell, taste and have a headache.

Yep – I probably have Covid (my PCR test results two days ago haven’t come back yet).

Today was the sickest I’ve felt in over two years. I had no energy to eat, get out of bed or read a book. During the day, I seriously thought I was going to die.

But as I’m slowly getting better, and my symptoms begin to fade, I have also become appreciative of what I do have. An immune system that can fight off the virus. Lovely friends, family and support networks. The ability to nap undisturbed on a comfy bed for three hours.

Typing this now is the best I’ve felt all day. And while I’m functioning at <10% of my usual capacity, it feels really good to have regained some ability to concentrate.

To know your days are numbered, that your body will break, is what gives life urgency and beauty.

Thanks for the reminder, Covid.

In writing publicly, there is always a particular dilemma that arises: do you write for yourself, or for others?

If you write for yourself, you are being selfish, and your audience might lose interest. But if you adopt a more generous route and write for other people, are you being authentic and writing what you really want to write?

For years, I struggled with this stalemate. I couldn’t work out the balance that would satisfy both my creative spirit and my desire for recognition. It felt like I had to choose either doing my work, or receiving praise. They were mutually exclusive.

One day, I gave myself an experiment. I would write only things I wanted to write; ideas that were burning inside of me. These weren’t posts that would receive many views or likes – my analytics told me that already. But I did it anyway.

The results weren’t surprising. The posts got fewer views than usual and my statistics began to drop. And I’ll admit – a part of me found this depressing. If only I wasn’t so selfish, I wouldn’t have lost my readers.

But over time, something curious happened: I began to love what I was doing. Despite my record low viewership, my real writing voice was beginning to emerge and my ideas became more and more refined. I soon became proud of my posts and thought every piece was unique.

Then the funniest thing happened: my viewership went back up again. I went from losing 70% of my readers over a week, to gaining over 1000% in a year.

What I learnt from this experience was that selfish work is generous. Copying what’s been done before is safe, but boring. It will never get you further than what other people are doing. You might think you are being generous, but you might merely be familiar.

The most generous thing you can do as a creator is to be yourself. People might avoid you at the beginning, but as you discover your talents and polish your craft, people will notice and love you for it.

Here’s to more generously selfish work.

Conversations tire me out.

I always thought it was because I am introverted, where the stimulus of my companion becomes overwhelming with time. But recently I’ve realised it’s not me at all – rather, it’s the medium of conversation that is exhausting.

Compare a live conversation with reading a book. Because the nature of a conversation allows for no dead periods, and the presence of others requires continuous responses, we often blurt out thoughtless phrases and can rarely plan an honest answer. Conversations often land on boring but familiar topics that people can quickly ping-pong opinions about, compared to finding more meaningful ground. It is no wonder most conversations are superficial; the very nature of communication forces one to find a common – usually boring – denominator.

Worse, live conversations are privy to distractions and fluctuations in mood, so one’s true opinion might change from one second to the other. And do not forget the interruptions, corrections or additions routinely found in conversation from our companions; further barriers for the clear delivery of ideas.

In contrast, books provide space for carefully thought-out phrases and the chance to undo an inappropriate, or inadequately presented thought. Whereas conversation allows no room to revise our words, writing largely consists of rewriting, where original thoughts become enriched and nuanced over time. The process of writing, reading and re-writing ensures that the final version is the best, most representative idea of the author.

Of course, conversations and human interactions have its necessary place. But as I get older and choose my friends more carefully, it is interesting to observe this gradual proclivity towards books, and away from people.

Despite Melbourne’s lockdowns and not seeing my family, I think this year has been my favourite year of my life so far.

Had great conversations. Developed closer friendships. Tried new things. Exercised more. Read good books.

There were terrible moments, for sure. But with time and hindsight, they’ve become valuable lessons for the future.

Bring on 2022.

I don’t think I’m a spontaneous person.

My roadtrips have itineraries. My days have plans. My workouts fit into weekly schedule. When my plans are interrupted, I become irritated.

Spontaneity implies a lack of control; a willingness to walk out on the street naked and take whatever the world has to offer. There is a part of me that craves certainty and will cry out if denied it. Thus, spontaneity has always felt unnatural.

But spontaneity also leaves space for wonder, surprise and having your mind changed in unexpected ways.

Recently, I’ve been reading books I purchased from op-shops (I have a compulsive habit of buying second hand books because the Asian side of me can’t resist a bargain). Many of these books I hadn’t heard of before, but bought them anyway because they seemed interesting.

Reading these books have been delightful. Opening the cover and diving into someone else’s world is always a unique experience, and doing it whilst having no expectations is even better.

One book I’m enjoying right now is How Proust Can Change Your Life. It’s a biography mixed with a self-help manual and is surprisingly funny. Wisdom flows from every page of this book, ranging from topics like suffering, relationships and how to be a better reader. Not knowing what this book was about made these lessons even richer.

Spontaneity is scary and unpredictable. But it is from these voids of uncertainty where the most surprising revelations can be found.

Almost every action is accompanied by risk.

Exercise puts you at risk of injury. Driving puts you at risk of accidents. Stock trading puts you at risk of market fluctuations.

The risks are significant, and the level of risk is often proportional to the possible outcomes.

A light workout might be easy, but a hard workout is what makes you stronger. Walking to work might be safe, but driving to work is far quicker. Putting your money in a savings account might feel secure, but you could make much more on stock exchanges.

The risks hurt but the greater the risk, the greater the reward.

There are infinite possible paths out there. What game are you reluctant to put your skin into?

From the musical Hamilton:

When you got skin in the game, you stay in the game
But you don’t get a win unless you play in the game
Oh, you get love for it
You get hate for it
But you get nothing if you wait for it

Recently, I’ve experienced lots of little stresses in my life.

Sink is broken. Car got hit. Low on money. The list goes on.

It sucks in the moment. You feel like your world is slowly crumbling beneath your feet and that it’s conspiring against you. You wonder why you have such bad luck.

But after a while, the stress passes and you realise it was never that big of a deal. And when it’s gone, you wonder why you freaked out so much in the first place.

Our instinct is to overreact. Most times, there’s no need.

It will be fine.

I occasionally get asked, where do you get your writing ideas from? Good question.

Usually, my ideas are taken straight from my journals then refined into a simple one-minute idea. Because I write down my thoughts daily, there’s rarely a drought for things to share.

But sometimes, nothing clicks. Maybe none of my scribblings feel interesting or unique enough, or I feel like something fresh. That’s where goldmine sources come in.

Goldmine sources are places you visit to find new ideas. These could be books, videos, blog posts, or talking to people. The point of these sources is to find ideas that you resonate with, from people you respect. The purpose of this could be to share content yourself, or just to change the way you think.

My goldmine sources are predominantly blog posts. I adore blogs, especially ones that are well written and have similar interests to myself. Three goldmine blogs I read on a weekly basis are:

• Seth’s blog – on productivity, business, learning and education.
• Derek Sivers – on happiness, life, music and creativity.
• Farnam Street – on decision making, self-improvement, reading and mental models.

Whenever I’m in an idea drought, I often browse these blogs for inspiration. The writing is clear, succinct and the ideas are powerful.

Inputs determine outputs. Having goldmine sources to continuously feed you with ideas is one of the most important ways to be a stronger thinker.

There are many potent teachers that can transform your thinking.

Choose them wisely.

One of the funnest things about writing online is the response.

How many people will find this interesting? Who will this resonate with?

Who will have the plots of their stories shifted and nudged by my ramblings?

As a creator, you never know how your ideas will be perceived. They could be forgotten instantly, or totally surpass your expectations. I love receiving emails from readers about a post I thought no one would ever read.

Every idea is a seed. When we share them, we don’t know where they will land. We can only hope they find fertile soil.

The possibilities are intoxicating.

I am stuck in a room with two cats.

Well, stuck is the wrong word. I forced myself to stay in this room to write a blog post, and my Airbnb’s two cats just happen to be in the same room with me.

One of the cats is a British shorthair called Pinot. Pinot is lazy and demanding. It likes to lie in an armchair and either sleep or stare at you with its yellow eyes.

The other is a ragdoll called Baijiu. Baijiu is curious and active. It likes to follow you around and jump on the kitchen counter when it smells something cooking.

I was in the middle of writing a serious post, but these two cats kept distracting me. One time, I looked up and Pinot was staring at me with a deathly look in his eyes. I was very amused. A few minutes later, Baijiu kept walking in circles around the room and knocked on the furniture. It was impossible to stay focused. And so, I gave up writing my post and just watched them instead.

I’ve never really observed cats up close before, so the last ten minutes have been educational. And the biggest thing I’ve learnt is that it is impossible to understand cats.

Pinot and Baijiu are very different creatures. One purrs when you scratch its head; the other shies away. One walks up when you call; the other ignores you. They are almost complete opposites to each other.

Asking “what are cats like?” is like asking “what are humans like?”. It depends. Just like people, there are smart cats, dumb cats, shy cats, outgoing cats, quiet cats and loud cats. It is impossible to generalise. To do so would be disingenuous and lazy.

The possible personalities are endless.