So here you are, scrolling through your phone or maybe on pc instead of doing that thing. You know which thing. The one that would probably make your life better if you actually did it. But we’re here together instead, having this little moment.

That’s cool. I get it.

Let me take a wild guess, you think you’re pretty exceptional, right?

No shade, I’m being serious. Since you were young, there’s been this quiet knowing that you could do basically anything. Learn quantum physics? Sure. Write the next great novel? Why not. Build something amazing? Obviously. The potential is all there, humming along in the background.

Except, well… you haven’t really done much with it yet.

The Weird Space Between Potential and Reality

Here’s the funny thing about feeling exceptional while not doing much, it’s like having a Ferrari engine in your imagination while driving a very regular car in real life. And honestly? Most of us live in this exact space.

I spent years examining this weird contradiction. Every day was basically the same loop: wake up feeling capable of anything, do very little, feel weird about it, promise tomorrow will be different. Rinse, repeat, wonder where the time went.

I kept thinking something was fundamentally broken in my wiring. Like maybe when I was being assembled, someone forgot to install the “actually does things” component.

Then one day, a thought wandered into my brain and made itself at home:

What if I just… lack discipline?

Titian: Sisyphus (1549) Patron saint of everyone trying to build a discpline.

Discipline. Even thinking about it makes me want to take a nap.

Here’s the thing - all the successful people seem to have it.

They wake up early (gross). They have routines (boring). They do the same things every day like it’s no big deal, and somehow end up with cool projects completed while I’m over here opening the fridge for the fifteenth time, hoping snacks have magically appeared.

But here’s where my brain starts doing backflips.

Since forever, I’ve thought of myself as this free spirit. No chains, no schedules, just pure freedom to do whatever feels right in the moment. And honestly? The thought of being locked into a routine makes my soul feel a little queasy.

I genuinely cannot stand the idea of discipline. It feels like voluntarily putting myself in a cage. Routines are for people who’ve given up on spontaneous joy. Why would I trade my beautiful chaos for boring predictability?

Except here’s the plot twist: this “freedom” hasn’t really produced much. Turns out when you reject all structure, you don’t ascend to some creative nirvana. You just get really good at thinking about things you’ll never actually do.

You’re free, sure free to watch other people build cool stuff while you guard your precious flexibility like it’s made of gold.

But what if I’ve been thinking about discipline all wrong?

And this is where we need to talk about a philosopher who figured out that most of our problems come from using words weird.

Ludwig Wittgenstein: The Philosopher Who Rage-Quit Philosophy Twice

The thousand-yard stare of a man who realized language is just vibes and games

Picture this: You’re born so rich your family makes Monopoly money look real. Your dad basically owns Austria’s steel industry. You could buy islands for fun. What do you do?

If you’re Ludwig Wittgenstein, you become philosophy’s most dramatic genius and spend your whole life being mad about it.

Born into stupid money (second only to the Rothschilds in the “wow that’s too much wealth” rankings), Ludwig could’ve just vibed forever. Instead, he went to Cambridge to build airplanes, met Bertrand Russell, and discovered something even less practical: philosophy.

Then at 32, this absolute madman did something unprecedented. He just… finished philosophy. Done. Solved.

His book, the Tractatus, was basically him saying “Okay everyone, here’s how language works, here’s why you’re all confused, and if you can’t say something clearly, maybe don’t?”

The last line?

Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent

Pure mic drop energy.

And then because this is Wittgenstein, he literally just left. Imagine solving math and then becoming a fisherman. That’s basically what he did, except he became an elementary school teacher in rural Austria. From explaining reality to teaching kids arithmetic. Wild.

Also he was terrible at it. Turns out the guy who solved philosophy wasn’t great with eight-year-olds. Who could’ve guessed?

Bored with traumatizing Austrian children, he tried architecture. Designed exactly one house for his sister. It was so aggressively minimalist it made empty rooms look busy. The house still exists, presumably making visitors uncomfortable with its mathematical perfection and complete absence of coziness.

Architectural proof that Wittgenstein couldn’t just be normal about anything.

Then the real plot twist hit, some philosophy nerds convinced him his life’s work was wrong. Most people would spiral. Wittgenstein? Went back to Cambridge and spent twenty years carefully destroying everything he’d previously believed.

His new philosophy was basically: “Remember when I said language was logical? Turns out it’s actually just weird games we play. My bad.”

This man invented a whole philosophical position, got famous for it, then spent decades explaining why he was wrong. It’s like winning an argument with yourself twenty years later and somehow both versions of you lose.

He died having given away his entire fortune, because apparently being right about philosophy twice doesn’t pay the bills. His last words? “Tell them I’ve had a wonderful life.” This from a guy who spent most of that wonderful life explaining why everyone (including himself) was wrong about everything.

The absolute legend revolutionized philosophy twice with completely opposite ideas, and somehow nailed it both times. He remains history’s only philosopher whose gravestone could accurately read: “I was right. Twice. Also wrong. Also twice.”

The Language Game of Discipline

Joseph Kosuth: One and Three Chairs (1965) - Is it a chair? A photo? A definition? Yes.

So here’s what Wittgenstein figured out after his whole “I solved everything, bye forever” phase: we get tangled up in our own words.

Language isn’t some perfect system that maps onto reality. It’s more like a bunch of games we play, and half the time we don’t even know which game we’re in.

Take “discipline.”

Try defining it. I’ll wait.

Tricky, right? That’s because you’re looking for what discipline IS, like it’s hiding somewhere waiting to be discovered. But Wittgenstein would say (probably while frowning): “Stop looking for what it IS. Look at how we USE it.”

When I say “I lack discipline,” what game am I playing?

I’m playing the one where discipline is a THING you HAVE. Like a collectible. Either you’ve got the discipline card or you don’t, and if you don’t, well, guess you’re stuck with the procrastination deck.

But watch what happens when we look at how people actually use the word:

• “She’s disciplined” = She does stuff regularly
• “I need discipline” = I don’t do stuff regularly
• “That takes discipline” = That requires doing stuff when you don’t feel like it

Notice something? Discipline isn’t a thing. It’s just a description of what people do. It’s not some mystical quality - it’s just… doing stuff consistently.

The Freedom Trap

Here’s where it gets interesting. When I say “I value freedom above all else,” I’m playing another language game. I’m treating freedom and discipline like they’re in a boxing match where only one survives.

But look at how we actually use “freedom”:

• “I’m free to choose” = I can do different things
• “Financial freedom” = I have enough resources to do different things
• “Freedom from routine” = I don’t do the same things regularly

And here’s the mind-bender: What actually creates freedom?

Doing things regularly.

The guitarist can play any song because they practiced scales. The writer can express any idea because they practiced writing. Your freedom to read this exists because someone practiced teaching you letters.

We’ve invented this weird game where freedom and discipline are enemies. It’s like saying “I hate having legs because they limit my floating ability.” Those legs are what make walking possible, friend.

The “I Am” Situation

Wittgenstein basically said: “Stop declaring what things ARE. Notice what they DO.”

When you say “I am undisciplined,” you’re treating it like your blood type. Unchangeable. Part of your core programming.

But that’s not how it actually works. Watch:

• Monday: Don’t write
• Tuesday: Don’t write
• Wednesday: Don’t write
• Thursday: “Are you a writer?”
• You: “I am a writer, I just lack discipline”

You’re not a writer who lacks discipline. You’re a person who doesn’t write. The “am” is working overtime here, creating an identity that excuses behavior.

So What Even Is Discipline?

Here’s where my brain finally connected the dots. After all this philosophical meandering, I think discipline is surprisingly simple:

Discipline is just how much boredom you can handle.

That’s it. That’s the whole thing.

It’s not about motivation or willpower or being born special. It’s literally just how long you can sit with that fidgety feeling when your brain goes “this is boring, let’s do literally anything else.”

When people say “I’m not disciplined,” they’re really saying “I peace out when things get boring.”

The Attention Cycle

Here’s something I noticed - our attention follows a natural rhythm:

Focus → Scatter → Focus again

It’s like breathing for your brain. You focus, then your mind wants to wander, then it naturally wants to focus again. The cycle just keeps cycling.

The problem? During those scattered phases, we’ve got a million engineered distractions waiting to catch us. Algorithms designed by very smart people whose entire job is hijacking those exact moments.

When I’m working, I can focus for maybe 15-20 minutes before my brain wants a little vacation. First, I get restless. Then I’m actively hunting for that sweet, sweet distraction. And the internet is RIGHT THERE, perfectly designed to catch me at my weakest.

Remember how I said I love freedom? Plot twist: I’m not free at all. I’m controlled by my scattered phases. Every time boredom hits, whatever algorithm catches me first wins.

Real freedom would be choosing what to do during those scattered moments. Real freedom would be riding out the boredom and returning to focus on my own terms.

But instead, I’ve been playing this game where “freedom” means “doing whatever my bored brain wants in any given moment.”

The “I Don’t Know Where to Start” Con

The moment I decide to actually do something productive, my brain pulls out its favorite trick: “But where do I even start? It’s all so overwhelming!”

This is hilarious because my brain has ONE job here, and it’s basically to be that friend who talks you out of going to the gym. “You don’t even know which exercise to do first. Better research workout routines for three hours instead.”

The eternal battle:

• Me: I want to work
• My Brain: Counterpoint - have you considered not?

But my brain is clever. It doesn’t just say no. It builds a whole case with exhibits and everything.

So what do I do? “Productivity” things. I watch YouTube videos about productivity systems, I browse Reddit threads about discipline. I’m like someone who spends all day sharpening pencils but never draws.

This isn’t productivity. This is procrastination wearing a disguise.

The Simple Truth

The thing is, doing it wrong is infinitely better than not doing it. You can fix wrong. You can’t fix nothing. Nothing is just… nothing.

My brain has this whole playlist of excuses:

• “Need more research”
• “Timing isn’t perfect”
• “What if it’s not good?”
• “Maybe tomorrow when I’m inspired”

All roads lead to the same place: Not Doing The Thing.

The Uncomfortable Solution

I will not make any more boring art - John Baldessari (1971)

So here’s the deal. When you say “I lack discipline,” you’re really saying “I can’t handle being bored.”

But Wittgenstein would point out - you’re playing the wrong game. You’re making discipline into this mystical quality when it’s actually just… sitting there when your brain wants to do something else.

You don’t get discipline. You just practice being bored. That’s it. That’s the whole secret.

When your brain hits that scattered phase and screams for Twitter, you just… don’t. You sit there. You exist in the mild discomfort. And if you can hang out in that space for like five minutes, your brain naturally cycles back to focus.

No apps needed. No morning routine required. No optimization necessary. Just the world’s most boring superpower: the ability to be temporarily uncomfortable.

Stop trying to “become disciplined.” Start practicing being bored.

Stop looking for the essence of discipline. Start looking at what you actually do.

Stop saying what you ARE. Start doing what you want to DO.

The question isn’t “How do I get discipline?” It’s “Can I handle being slightly bored for a few minutes?”

Because here’s what’s funny - we’ve built this whole complex mythology around discipline when the truth is almost embarrassingly simple:

You’re not undisciplined. You just haven’t practiced being bored.

And maybe that’s exactly why we’ve made it so complicated. Because admitting it’s that simple means we could’ve been doing it all along.

But hey, no pressure. Tomorrow’s another day to practice sitting with mild discomfort. Or not.

Just remember what our friend Wittgenstein taught us most of our problems come from taking our own words way too seriously. We build these linguistic cages and then complain about being trapped.

The door’s been open the whole time. We just convinced ourselves it was locked.