250 Weeks Later

It's a typical Wednesday morning, but as I open my laptop in my local Starbucks something feels off, like I've forgotten something.

I scan my reminders list, check my email, and scroll through text messages, but can't seem to figure it out. I lean back to sip my cold brew and see a bright blue sticky note hanging out of the side pouch of my backpack, yesterday's to-do list.

I pick it up and my stomach drops. "Oh no," I accidentally say out loud, "I didn't write my newsletter."

For the previous two years, I had published a newsletter every single Tuesday without missing a week. For no good reason, I simply forgot this week. At first, I try to rationalize the mishap by telling myself, "You have less than 100 subscribers... they don't really care, you can miss a week..." But before the thoughts can fully form, I know I'm just making excuses.

The unmistakable mix of embarrassment and shame begins to settle over me, like a school uniform made of coarse, thick wool I'm being forced to wear. As I draft my day-late newsletter, I vow never to miss another week.

As I reflect on that moment, I'm proud to say I haven't missed a week since.

In fact, this week marks the 250th edition of Two For You, a milestone that feels less like the completion of a task and more like the fulfillment of a promise.

For nearly five years, I've written about personal growth, storytelling, psychology, relationships, mental health, service, risk-taking, and much more. As I reflect on 250 consecutive weeks of writing, two lessons stand out above all the rest.

Contribution Creates Value

Starting the newsletter wasn't an easy decision.

At the time, I worried it felt self-promotional. I wasn't an expert, didn't have any advanced degrees, and no one was asking me to share my thoughts each week. In fact, I was the one asking people to subscribe.

What I couldn't accept at the time was this: as the speaker, writer, or contributor, I don't get to decide what is valuable for other people.

My job isn't to determine whether an idea is worthy enough to share. My job is to contribute and allow others to decide whether it is useful.

Over the years, readers have responded to stories, observations, and ideas that I never expected to resonate.

In fact, the most popular newsletter I've ever written was one I scheduled three weeks in advance and barely remembered writing.

Meanwhile, some of the editions I was most excited about generated little response.

Time and again, I've been reminded that I am a remarkably poor judge of what others will find valuable. What feels ordinary to me may be exactly what someone else needs to hear.

That's taught me that we often underestimate what we have to offer because we overestimate how much permission we need.

When we withhold our contributions, we may also be withholding value.

Pressure is a Gift

When I was a kid, I couldn't wait to grow up because it meant I no longer had to meet other people's expectations. I naively believed the pressure I felt to fulfill responsibilities was holding me back from a fuller life.

What I've learned instead is that adulthood doesn't eliminate pressure. It gives us the opportunity to choose it.

This newsletter has taught me that pressure, commitments, and responsibilities, especially self-imposed ones, are often what make life full and fulfilling.

Over the years, that pressure has taken many forms.

One summer, Joenelle and I traveled to Europe, which meant writing six newsletter editions in advance before we ever boarded the plane.

Another week, I realized at 10 p.m. on Tuesday night that I had forgotten to write. Sick with a 102-degree fever, I sat down and finished the newsletter anyway.

The circumstances changed, but the commitment remained.

There are weeks when I wake up on Tuesday excited to write. There are other weeks when writing a two-minute newsletter feels like the last thing I want to do.

This is where the combination of contribution and pressure shines brightest. If I'm going to keep my promise, my feelings don't get the final vote.

The newsletter still needs to be written, the responsibility still exists, and the promise still matters.

I've learned that even if no one read my newsletter, the act of writing it was still valuable for me.

Thankfully, there are those that read it, and I couldn't be more grateful. Thank you for reading, replying to, and sharing these newsletters with others. Most of all, thank you for giving me someone to contribute to.

Over the last 250 weeks, you've also given me something else: a reason to keep showing up every Tuesday. Every Tuesday, there were people expecting a newsletter. Not thousands of people, just enough people that keeping my promise mattered.

Looking back, I'm grateful for both gifts: the opportunity to contribute and the pressure to keep contributing.

My challenge to you is the same challenge these newsletters have given me. Find something to contribute. Share an idea. Tell a story. Serve a need. Offer a skill. Then find a way to hold yourself accountable to that contribution.

If life feels less full than you'd like, the answer may not be fewer responsibilities. It may be one more.

Here's to 250 editions down and, hopefully, 250 more to go.

To be honest, another 250 weeks sounds like a lot of pressure. Then again, that's kind of the point.

Fact

Research on commitment devices has found that people are significantly more likely to follow through on goals when they create external accountability.

Action

Finish this sentence: "I am the kind of person who ______." Then choose one action this week that proves it.

Question

What contribution are you withholding from the world?

Quote

"The meaning of life is to find your gift. The purpose of life is to give it away." - Pablo Picasso