Don’t Hit Delete

Or, How a Cat and Five Minutes of Meditation Taught Me to Betray My Fear

The Red Button

It’s always there. One click, and it’s all gone—the project, the effort, the promise you made to yourself. "It’ll be easier if I just quit." The thought slips into your mind like a toxic lullaby, sweet and familiar. You know the tune: fear on repeat, ease as the chorus. And yet, every time you give in, something inside you cracks. Not the project—you.

I know, because I’ve hit that button dozens of times. Half-written articles deleted, meditation sessions cut short, dreams tucked away in the "maybe someday" drawer. Until Cassie looks at me, her eyes saying: "Again?"

Cassie doesn’t speak, but she has habits. She wakes at dawn, stretches, watches the birds from the balcony without ever getting bored. She doesn’t put her life on hold for "tomorrow." She doesn’t believe in excuses. She acts. And I wonder: Why do I run from what sets my soul on fire?

Ease Is a Lie

We’re sold the idea that passion should be effortless, that if it’s hard, it’s "not meant for us." But meditation—the practice I teach, the practice I love—has shown me the truth: there is no ease, not even in stillness. Sitting in lotus position, back straight, mind racing: the thoughts come like waves, and the urge to get up, to escape, is overwhelming. Yet it’s in those five minutes of struggle that everything changes. Five minutes of choosing to stay, despite the noise. Five minutes that, stacked up, become a life.

Five minutes of meditation. One paragraph written. A sketch scribbled on a napkin.

It’s always five minutes more than yesterday.

The Voice of Betrayal

There’s a voice inside us that whispers: "Let it go. It’s not worth it. You’ll never make it." That voice is a traitor. It doesn’t want what’s best for you—it wants what’s comfortable. It’d rather see you small and quiet than big and vulnerable.

But Cassie? She doesn’t lie. When I hit delete, she feels it. She curls up beside me, as if to say: "You’re not sad because you failed. You’re sad because you gave up without a fight."

So I breathe. I remember:

• Fear is not a guide. It’s a loud backseat driver—you can hear it without letting it steer.
• "Small wins" are still wins. Five minutes of meditation is a revolution. An unfinished project is a work in progress.
• Tomorrow doesn’t exist. There’s only now, and what you choose to do with it.

What Cassie Taught Me (Without Ever Saying a Word)

1. Rituals save us. Cassie has hers: eating slowly, watching the snow, purring when the music plays. I have mine: writing at 5:30 AM, meditating even when my mind screams, publishing even when I doubt. Rituals are anchors. They remind you who you are when you forget.
2. Presence is resistance. Cassie doesn’t judge the birds she watches. She just sees them. What if we did the same with our projects? Welcoming them, without expectation, without pressure—just being there.
3. Quitting is a spiral. The more you give in, the louder the voice gets. The more you resist, the weaker it becomes.

So, What Now?

• Break the impossible into bits. A chapter feels too long? Write one sentence. Meditation feels too hard? Breathe for one minute. Greatness is built on repetition, not heroics.
• Celebrate micro-victories. Today, I meditated for five minutes. Yesterday, I hit publish. The day before, I lit a candle under the full moon. It all counts.
• Betray your fear. Every time you hit "save" instead of "delete," you steal a little of its power.

For You, Reading This and Hesitating

Maybe you’re staring at that red button too. Maybe you hear the voice telling you to walk away.

Don’t listen.

Your project—whether it’s a blog, a book, a shop, or just the desire to wake up earlier—deserves better than your fear. It deserves your loyalty.

And if you doubt, do as Cassie does:

• Breathe.
• Stay.
• Repeat.

"There is no ease. But there is you. And that’s already enough."