«» Letter 042: Midyear Reflections
Four ideas changing how I think about focus, patience, truth, and faith
HELLO! I’m Atom, and you’ve received my Letters:
For the past six months, I’ve found myself returning to the same four ideas. They keep me up at night and pervade my writing less because of the answers they hold and more because of the questions they won’t stop asking.
“Invisible agent.”
At a Ray White event in Adelaide, I listened to Alan, a top-performing luxury agent who'd been with the company for eleven years. During his talk, he shared that despite doing very well financially, he came very close to quitting in his ninth year due to stress and burnout. What saved him was a senior leader's blunt feedback: he was an invisible agent. He was selling 50 properties a year, spread across a dozen suburbs. Three sales in one, two in another, another three somewhere else, and so on. He's pulling in the numbers, but no one knows who he is.
Alan then shared how, as a result of that discussion, he'd shifted strategy over the last two years. Instead of chasing sellers all over Sydney, he decided to focus on just three suburbs. His sales initially dropped. But eventually, instead of chasing clients, they began coming to him. He was no longer invisible.
This hit me because I recognized myself in Alan's story. The idea of an invisible agent is not just a sales problem. Questions started arising about my hobbies: Am I spreading myself across too many and making progress on none? Then relationships: am I too focused on chasing new friendships while neglecting the people already in my life? I felt myself spread thin, becoming invisible in my own existence.
“Nearly all runners do their slow runs too fast, and their fast runs too slow."
Desperate to still complete the Sydney Marathon after injuring my Achilles heel, I dove into books, podcasts, and articles related to running technique and training. During this research, I came across this quote from running coach and author Christopher McDougall.
I followed the advice and began running my easy runs 1 minute per kilometer slower than I used to. My "sprints," which used to go for 30-45 minutes, now last only 2-8 minutes but at much higher intensity. It was very humbling. By prioritizing long-term progress over daily pace, I was forced to run slower than people around me, trusting that the results would show on race day.
One year later, after running more each week and breaking all personal race records, the success of this counterintuitive approach has me wondering about its larger implications. Do nearly all people think too big in the short run and too small in the long run? Was it the case for me in wanting a sub-4 marathon in six months instead of targeting a sub-3 marathon in three years? What if my impatience isn't just risking injury and burnout, but limiting what I could achieve?
“It is no measure of health to be well-adjusted to a sick society.”
I highlighted this quote (attributed to philosopher Jiddu Krishnamurti) while reading Lost Connections by Johann Hari. In his book, Hari challenges the "chemical imbalance" narrative of depression, arguing instead that our suffering is the result of disconnection and unmet social needs.
It's easy (lazy?) to think that because everyone is doing something, it must be okay. Growing up, all I wanted was to fit in. I would stay late at parties I didn't enjoy, promote myself on social media, and force down uncomfortable amounts of protein to bulk up. All of this caused me discomfort, which I excused in favor of peer acceptance.
Instead of feeling like I belonged, I only felt more insecure and anxious. In my effort to adjust myself to others, I was projecting a false identity. Although I was connecting with more people, they weren't connecting to me; they were connecting to this projected version of me.
I realized I was caught in a two-sided trap. The problem isn’t just being healthy in a sick society. Even in healthy spaces, if I’m pretending to be someone I’m not, the connection is still broken.
This raised the obvious question: "Who do I want to connect to? Whose love and admiration am I after?" But I’ve found the follow-up equally important: "Who are these people connecting with—me or my projection?"
"Help, Thanks, Wow”
This is the title of the book written by Anne Lamott that explores the transformative power of prayer in everyday life, regardless of religious background. Essentially, the book distills prayer into three simple, universal types: help, thanks, and wow.
Over the last six months, in wrestling with these questions—what to focus on, how to stay humble and patient in the face of progress, and who to connect with—I’ve often felt overwhelmed. I still don't have all the answers, but what Anne Lamott taught me is a simple practice that helps me sit with the uncertainty.
We start by asking for help. This is the scariest part for me because it means acknowledging the pain and suffering, and then admitting that I can’t break free on my own. Asking for help forces me to recognize the limits of my existence in the face of the grandness of the world around me. It's humbling, but it also connects me to something larger than myself.
Ironically, asking for help makes it easier to say thank you. By seeing what I don’t have or where I struggle, I’m primed to see what I do have, to be grateful for what’s happened to me without too much pride. I can see what I have and not need more. Saying thank you becomes the antidote to this chasing of more.
Finally, wow. This pulls me out of my head and into the moment. Is there something going on around me that I’m still missing? Something amazing, wonderful, and precious that I’ve been too busy to notice?
If you are reading this, then I would like to share my prayers with you.
I pray you find help when you need it most. I pray you find gratitude for what you already have. And I pray you find awe in the moments you might otherwise miss.
When all feels lost, may these prayers guide you back to yourself, so you can give your gifts fully to the world.
From,
Atom