Craig Constantine

Getting started with 16-hour fasting →

Published March 31 · All posts on Mar 31 · Fasting

This post is about ways to incrementally change when you are eating, to shift yourself from how you are eating today, to a particular time-pattern of fasting called 16:8 (pronounced “sixteen eight”.) 16:8 means every day you have a 16-hour fast (the “not eating” window,) and then an 8-hour eating window.

I’m going to start by assuming you already want to begin fasting. I’ve written more generally about fasting if you’d prefer to start with WHY you might want to try being more intentional about when you choose to eat.

Putting yourself into “intentional” mode

You SHOULD discuss your fasting with your primary care physician. Ask them what you should be aware of, or how it may affect you—they know the specifics of your body. You will discover they actually know all about fasting and diet. If you are proactively engaged in your own welfare, your physician will be happy to be a font of useful information.

For example: My primary care doctor is well aware of the beneficial effects of diet, exercise and fasting on my cholesterol markers. They are also convinced that my lifestyle changes will not be able to sufficiently improve those markers quickly enough. Thus, our discussions and my choices continue.

(And—yikes!—if your physician isn’t helpful, knowledgeable, and open to discussion, you should find a better physician.)

Fasting is about WHEN you eat

Fasting is easy to understand: It’s about WHEN you eat. Whether we use the word fasting, intermittent fasting (IF), or time restricted eating (TRE), we’re simply referring to when you eat versus when you don’t eat.

Fasting—here, and whenever I talk about it—is not about depriving yourself, nor about starvation or suffering. It is SIMPLY being intentional about WHEN you CHOOSE to eat.

I know, I know… 16 hours without eating probably sounds like a crazy-long time to not eat. But as I said at the top, I’m assuming you are motivated to try this.

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Closing the Loop →

Published March 25 · All posts on Mar 25 · Hand-Write. Think Better.

One of the most valuable things a notebook does is help you close open loops—those things you said you’d figure out and then never quite did.

You know the ones. Questions you need to answer. Decisions you keep avoiding. Things that pop into your head at 2am because your brain won’t let them go.

Here’s a simple system: When you write something that needs follow-up, mark it in the margin with a double-line arrow pointing at the text. Put a small sticky note flag there too.

Now when your notebook is closed, you can see these flags poking out. Open to any flag and you’re right back at that open loop, with the full page of context.

When you’ve decided or done the thing:

Remove the sticky note
Strike through the arrow
Write the date
Add a page reference to where you recorded the resolution

Both pages now reference each other. The loop is closed. You have a record of both the question and the answer.

This is where the notebook earns its keep. You’ve been thinking about questions for days or weeks, but you haven’t had to hold all of it in your head simultaneously.

This is part of a series about Hand-Write. Think Better.—a method for people who feel overwhelmed to start simply writing more on paper. Get the book →

Regrets →

Published March 21 · All posts on Mar 21

Do I have a lot of regrets? Yes.

And they’re all stories that involve other people. Like, in hindsight I think: *facepalm* How did I think that was the right choice?!

For example:

Nearly 20 years ago, I rented a jack hammer to break up the concrete sidewalk right against one side of our house (not along a street, but between us and the neighbor.)

You should make jack hammer sounds here. Now make more. And yet more. For like an hour.

It was pretty flippin’ hot too, and eventually one of my neighbors— from across the street— diagonally across the street, someone who I knew by sight but hadn’t really talked to— a guy named Ron— appeared around my corner with a classic, red and white Igloo carry-cooler with a bunch of cold Budweiser in it.

I stopped long enough to exchange a few words.

But for some damn reason, I didn’t stop long. I didn’t dismiss his beer exactly (it isn’t a brand I’d choose)— but I didn’t drink one. I didn’t really even stop to talk. I certainly didn’t make him feel welcome. I said something like, “I need to finish this.”

And— no surprise— we never talked much— heck, I’m not sure we ever spoke after that.

He died years ago.

Just about every time I walk along the side of my house (there’s a paver-stone path there now) I regret not taking five. farking. minutes. to talk to a fellow human being, who went to the trouble to bring over cold beer on a hot day.

How did I think that was the right choice?!

Creating my own sacred space →

Published March 14 · All posts on Mar 14

I’ve been working on myself a long time— structured prompts, journals going back years, books chosen deliberately. That practice is mine, and it’s working. But there’s something I can’t yet do: Know that Jesse is also in it. Or that Mike showed up this morning and set something down for me. I have no way of feeling I’m not the only one.

I didn’t want a group chat. Group chats are about response and obligation. I post, someone reacts, the thread pulls all of us back in. (Or it gets washed down the screen by all those other messages.) I didn’t want a social network either, with its metrics and its performance. I wanted something closer to what a good café used to be for writers: A place where you showed up, do your own work, and just know that others were there too. The ambient awareness of shared striving. No agenda.

The ephemerality matters. I wanted a space that wasn’t an archive. It’s not for posterity. Posts disappear automatically because the point is showing up now, not curating a record of having shown up. Presence, not pursuit.

I called it Temenos because that’s exactly what it is — a sacred precinct, a piece of ground cut off from ordinary use. Jung used the word for the protected psychological space where transformation happens. That’s the room I wanted to build. Small. Quiet. No notifications. No likes. Just the slow accumulation of people doing the work, leaving a trace, moving on.

Discipline →

Published March 14 · All posts on Mar 14

What do you do when you don’t feel like it? Especially then.
~ Seth Godin, from Our practice

It’s been said that discipline is how you earn freedom; freedom in the sense of being able to do what you want with your time. Freedom, with a capital, is of course an inherent right. I tend to add systems and queues (a fancy word for piles of stuff to do) to both get things out of my head and to impose some order.

But to answer Godin’s question specifically: When I really don’t feel like doing any of the things I’ve set myself up for, I step back and survey. Because it’s usually a sound indicator that I’ve got too many things I’m imagining I’m going to get done.

There’s more than we can ever do →

Published March 14 · All posts on Mar 14 · Self-Awareness

While I’m distracted by doing all the things I really need to do I know deep down I’m avoiding all the things I really need to do
~ Jesse Danger, from Robbing Peter to pay Paul

My friend Jesse writes now and then. It’s not that what he writes is good (it is), rather it’s that what he writes is very often in sync with what I’m thinking. This one sat a bit before I hit publish, so if you go over, there are few more things to read published since.

I often (“constantly” almost works here) talk about how my default mode is to sit before the computer and do stuff, when the default mode I wish I had was— frankly, anything other than touch a computer. The key to unlocking that is to fixate on this: The computer is a tool. Tools are technology for doing something. Therefore, as I head towards a computer, what exactly am I going to do, and what exactly is the definition of done (so I then know to go back to the normal life I wish I had)?

This? The point was to sit with this thought, and to attempt to shine some attention towards Jesse’s writing. Done.

You are not alone →

Published March 13 · All posts on Mar 13

When I set out to document the inner workings of sludge, I had in mind the dull architecture of delays and deferrals. But I had started to notice my own inner workings. The aggravation was adding up, and so was the fatigue. Arguing was exhausting. Being transferred to argue with a different person was exhausting. The illogic was exhausting.
Chris Colin, from That Dropped Call With Customer Service? It Was On Purpose

First I want to just say: You are not alone. That complex thing— that bureaucracy you’re trying to wade through— those phone systems, web site chat bots, email exchanges… we are all facing that. That’s the first piece. Take a breath and realize that the problem is not you. Yes, you may have actually broken whatever it is you’re trying to fix… or, you’re trying to save some moeny… or, countless other things that will lead you into the maze of twisty passages, all alike. But the problem is not you. Exceptional things happen, and—counterintuitively—they happen frequently. It’s not you.

Second I want to say that the best way to move through the sludge of a stupefyingly vast bureaucracy is to take good notes. As soon as you realize you are entering the realm of bureaucracy sludge, start taking notes. Put your notes into something dedicated—a single digital file, a separate notebook, a tablet, or just grab a stack of recycled paper and staple the corner. Start every note with the date. Write as much as you can and CRITICALLY after each interaction—each email or message you read, each phone call you attempt—take the time to READ your notes and THINK about what happened and make MORE NOTES right there.

This second part will NOT, in the least, make you more successful at “winning.” But it will save your sanity. Not having to rely on your memory will go a long way towards preserving your sanity.

Seven dwelling places →

Published March 11 · All posts on Mar 11

This morning I was rummaging through a notebook and I was reminded of a great article I’d read about Saint Teresa of Ávila. More specifically, I was reminded that I had wanted to add some self-reflection prompts about Saint Teresa’s “seven dwellings” ideas. And then after some searching I realized I’d never even posted about the article either— or at least, I can’t find it here in the blog… I digress.

Imagine your inner self as a new love interest. You would get to know them by spending time and doing things together. Similarly, to know yourself better, you intentionally carve out space for introspective reflection.
Skye C Cleary, from Saint Teresa of Ávila

slip:4upyie20.

Self-knowledge. That’s the first dwelling place.

The Mental Swirl Problem →

Published March 11 · All posts on Mar 11 · Hand-Write. Think Better.

You know the feeling: journal, yoga, that project, call mom, the other thing you’ve been meaning to get to. They’re all there, circling. You can’t settle into any one of them because the others keep interrupting.

Here’s the problem with making a list: an ordered list implies sequence and commitment. Your brain reads “1, 2, 3” as a contract you’re already failing.

But if you don’t externalize the swirl somehow, it keeps consuming mental energy.

There’s a technique I call the Jumble Bullet. Make a quick scribble—a small squiggle, just one fast stroke that looks like a tiny mess. Then write the items horizontally on that line, separated by slashes:

journal / yoga / call mom / that email / budget thing

That’s it. One line. No hierarchy. No sequence. Just peers, captured.

The scribble looks like what it represents—mental clutter you’re getting out of your head. The horizontal format reinforces “these are options, not steps.”

Sometimes just writing it down is enough—you can let go and settle into one of the items because the others are captured. Sometimes you’ll look at it later and realize one thing matters more than the rest. Sometimes you’ll ignore it entirely.

The point is to get it out of your head so you can stop holding it there.

This is part of a series about Hand-Write. Think Better.—a method for using paper to think more clearly. Get the book →

My way? →

Published March 10 · All posts on Mar 10 · Self-Awareness

For me, all these complex valences reach their peak in one song. And you know which one I’m talking about.
Ted Gioia, from “My Way” or the Highway?

slip:4uhopy2.

There was a time—20 years ago, I’d say—when I sang along. It was of course aspirational— or— I’m looking for a word; not quite “aspirational.” I was singing along as if the song in any way represents my actual story. In reality, I’m only acting as if I’d actually tried to do even a few of the things expressed, let alone actually accomplished all the things expressed. Is that posturing? …playacting? …attempting to borrow someone’s bravado?

I’m going to go with: self-deception.

There was a time, not too long ago, when I sang along in self-deception. Now the song reminds me that I’ve never actually even tried to do anything… let alone accomplished anything worth singing about.