"It's training — first, second, and always training"

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"How did you become the person you are now?"
He looked at my face and answered like this. His answer that day is exactly the same words I now say to my clients.

"Training. First, second, and always training."

Source: The Only Thing That Matters (Japanese title roughly: "If you want to be outstanding, let me teach you the one reliable technique") by Erik Bertrand Larssen

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This is a passage from a book I read a while back that really influenced me.
The title is classic overheated self-help, but the writing has a pleasant heat, and I love it.
I reread it two or three times a year. The opening line is a question the author asked Tony Robbins — the self-help speaker whose seminar sparked the author's path toward becoming a mental trainer.
When I looked up Tony Robbins, there was a documentary about him on Netflix; if you're curious, it might be worth watching. I'll watch it too after I finish writing this post.

The author is a Norwegian mental coach with a military background, coaching Olympic athletes and businesspeople.

I like the phrasing "Training. First, second, and always training," and I keep repeating it in my head.

When something tough hits and I need to switch my mindset, I tell myself, "This is training."
Not "Don't worry about it" or "You'll be fine" — "It's training" lands better for me.

It still takes time to absorb a book's content into your own life.
You build the habit, reread, hammer it into your head again, try again — and repeat.

You have to accept that a mindset you flipped once after reading a book will not last forever on its own.

Related to that: my wife recently told me something interesting — looking at information you don't think is good for you can still give a dopamine hit, so you end up repeating it.

That made sense.

A clear example is gossip posts on social media and the for-and-against comment threads — pointless, nothing positive for you, and yet you look anyway and get irritated.

You know there's nothing to gain, but your brain still treats it as a kind of pleasure.

I think it's basic mental training: put into words what triggers the thinking, and try to block it at the trigger.
I've also heard that writing it on paper and physically throwing it away can help.

People often say that writing out your current situation freely helps with worries, but for me the key seems to be naming the trigger.
Freely writing still needs a format — a bit paradoxical — but that approach fits me.

On a different note: people often say the best way to clear worries is to get busy.

I agree. When you're too busy, you can exhaust yourself so you have neither time nor energy to worry.

On the other hand, if it's literally nothing but work, disposable time shrinks, and feeling guilty about learning or gathering information you like is not good.

There's a famous technique for focus called the Pomodoro Technique.
It might be the most famous focus technique of all.

Concentrate for 25 minutes, take a 5-minute break — that sort of thing.

I tried it again recently and liked it.

When I work, I get so absorbed that I always stop at a "clean break."
I also thought I was too distractible to focus even for 25 minutes — but when I try it, more often I think, "Wait, 25 minutes already?"

I used to immerse myself for maybe 60 to 90 minutes, then take a long break once I was tired, and after that my focus would come and go.

What's interesting about Pomodoro is that the point is to stop at an awkward place, on purpose.
You want to keep going — and you force yourself to rest anyway.

In my case I often use the break for chores like cleaning the bath, showering, or washing dishes; I don't lock the break length, and sometimes I go shopping.

If I decide beforehand what to do in the Pomodoro break, I go wash dishes like a robot.
It's decided, so I do it. I do it as training.

That's all.

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