A man wrote one sentence about his life and then, underneath it, wrote another sentence three times in a row.
The first one was honest. He said he feels like he's swinging wildly at a life he's completely unaccustomed to, every day. Nobody would call that dramatic. Most people who are actually in it would call it accurate.
Then the second sentence. I am a good dad. He typed it, and typed it again, and typed it a third time, dots trailing after each one like he was waiting to see if it would land differently the fourth time he heard himself say it.
Nobody says a true thing about themselves three times in a row. You say it once, if you believe it. The repeats are the tell. Somewhere between the first one and the third, he stopped talking to whoever might be reading and started talking to the only person in the room who was actually unconvinced.
You've done the three-times thing. Not always out loud. Maybe it's I'm handling this, said to your own reflection while you're still in the car. Maybe it's I'm fine, texted twice in one conversation to someone who didn't ask twice. The second and third time you say it, you're not informing anybody. You're checking whether repetition can do what conviction couldn't.
It can't. But the checking tells you something the first sentence didn't. It tells you exactly which claim you're not sure of yet.
The one thing:
Notice the next time you say something true about yourself more than once in a row.
Don't stop saying it. Just notice which one it was.
Josh
P.S. I finished my 30-day Ash Journal run on July 30. In public, one page a day, no edits, all thirty.
Five minutes. One prompt. One line of ash. The first seven days are free: truevitalyou.com/journal
P.P.S. Know a guy who'd tell you he's fine? Forward him this one.