Put Your Ass Where Your Heart Wants to Be

by Steven Pressfield

Tremendous power lies in the simple, physical act of stationing our body at the epicenter of our dream. There is magic in putting our ass where our heart wants to be.

there is no substitute for being there, at the heart of the action. And to get there, you have to leave “here.”

It’s not enough for your heart to be in the right place. Your ass has to be there too.

when you work, you learn.

Don’t try to overcome your fear. Fear cannot be overcome. Instead simply move your body into the physical space you fear . . . and see what happens.

The process unfolds infallibly. Our symphony-in-the-works evolves into four movements, our screenplay orders itself into three acts. If we just keep plugging away at it, the Law of Self-Ordering comes to our aid. Work—day-in, day-out exertion and concentration—produces progress and order. That’s a law of the universe.

Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves too. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents, meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamt would have come his way. I have learned a deep respect for one of Goethe’s couplets: Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.

You too have a body of work. It exists inside you, on the Plane of Potentiality. Are you a writer? This body or work exists, like books on a bookshelf. Close your eyes. You can see them. Are you a musician? These works exist like albums, like concerts, like performances. Listen with your inner ear. You can hear them. These bodies of work exist as alternative futures. They are that which can be . . . and should be . . . and want to be. But they are not that which is guaranteed to be.

One hour a day is seven hours a week, thirty hours a month, 365 hours a year. Three hundred and sixty hours is nine forty-hour weeks. Nine forty-hour weeks is a novel. It’s two screenplays, maybe three. In ten years, that’s ten novels or twenty movie scripts. You can be a full-time writer, one hour a day.

The goddess doesn’t just want to know where we are. She wants to know what time we start and at what hour we finish. How can she come to our aid if she doesn’t know where and when to find us?