I started reading Turning Pro by Steven Pressfield. I had read the War on Art about a year or two ago and bought Turning Pro shortly after for Kindle, but I just haven’t had a strong desire to read on my Kindle for a while. I haven’t really had a strong pull to do anything lately. I feel like I’ve been stuck in a rat race of being constantly busy all the time and trying to do what I think I should be doing to maximize my value and talents instead of what brings me energy in my free time. This has been pretty difficult as I currently work 7 days a week and don’t get much downtime to shut off to begin with.

The book's central idea is that "turning pro" is a decision to stop living in the shadow life (driven by fear, distraction, self-medication, and self-dramatization) and instead commit fully to your calling or the work that matters most to you. Pressfield argues that amateurs are driven by fear and operate in a reactive, self-sabotaging way, while professionals show up consistently, do the work regardless of how they feel, and take their craft seriously. Being crunched for time and doing things only for the sake of money instead of the pursuit of excellence and doing the work for the sake of the craft.

Pressfield describes how everyone has a sort of epiphany before turning pro that marks the moment they decide to quit putting up with their own bullshit and do what it takes to be a pro. I think this dream was a way for my subconscious to act out and apply a metaphorical version of myself to what I was reading in Turning Pro. I’ve been operating like an Amateur and my brain was trying to give me something painful in order to want to turn pro. Show me what it can look like when you do everything needed but you still don’t allow yourself to execute when the time comes.

In my dream I was a rookie Formula One driver. I was at a new F1 circuit and the track itself seemed pretty cool and challenging with beautiful scenery. The track was on a hillside and parts of it went through the outskirts of two villages. The surroundings looked like a mix of Corsican and central Spanish scenery as well as architecture that was distinctly Mediterranean.

For some reason I couldn’t remember what position I qualified because my memory was hazy that morning. I’m not sure if I didn’t sleep well or because it was the jitters of getting to do my first race. I thought I qualified 4th but when I went to line up Carlos Sainz told me Charles Leclerc and Lewis Hamilton were 4th and 5th and I was 7th or 8th. I literally was looking up what I qualified at on my phone when we had to walk out onto this lineup for the media where we had these hexagons we stood on for each grid position. According to the internet I qualified 8th and no one prevented me from standing there so it must have been correct.

We did a picture and then it was off to the paddock and grid. The path to the paddock seemed needlessly complex with a network of stairs and switchbacks all made of wood. It felt like a ropes course at times with rope bridges and horizontal wooden planks for you to walk on. Some parts had ladders and and stairs and others I felt like I was squeezing through all while we were above the ground by about 30 feet.

When we got through what I thought was the end of that erratic attempt of a temporary path and were on the pavement again, I attempted to walk straight through this hangar type space to get to the lane behind pit road to my garage. I saw a lot of people doing work and welding in this hangar, but it was unclear what they were doing. Maybe creating the structure for the more permanent entry to the pits so we wouldn’t need to do the ropes course again.

As I started on through the hangar, I was stopped by another driver telling me that was the wrong way and I had to go with everyone else. We walked for a bit more around the hangar and then entered a warehouse where we encountered what seemed to be the last flight of stairs up before we got to go outside to the paddock. These stairs were industrial, made of metal, and had thin square handrails.

I was among the last 6 or so drivers who still had to get out there and Nikola Jokic for some reason cut in front of me with an impossible amount of plates and bowls full of food he was carrying (a combination of 8 dishes). The food was a mix of mediterranean style dishes such as cucumber salad, tabbouleh, lamb skewers, flat bread, rice, baklava, some sort of soup, and something else I didn’t recognize but it all looked appealing to me. I offered to help him carry his food, thinking it would speed things up but instead he stopped to eat some of the food off the plate. I guess he did this to make sure he doesn’t spill any excess, but now we’re all stuck going up this staircase.

As he was satisfied that he ate enough and we were about to get going again, 3 beautiful women showed up to fawn over him and chat him up. They were speaking in a language I didn’t understand so I pretty much tuned them out. The other drivers behind me left and went another direction while I was holding these extra plates of food with nowhere to put them.

I heard the booming voice of the announcer say there were 3 minutes until the warm up lap. I looked intently at the people blocking my path hoping they would get the hint. They didn’t but I still waited patiently for Nikola and the women to move for me so I can get to where I need to be. I heard the sound of the cars firing up from 100 feet away, the people in front me were still engrossed in their conversation seemingly seeing me as some sort of assistant for the guests instead of a driver. I hear the other cars pulling out of the pit lane, signaling the start of the warm up lap. The announcer mentions my absence from the grid and how my team has no idea where I am and then I wake up.

I am distracted and not keyed into what I want, I can’t stay focused on what matters, and I choose to confirm/validate myself through figuring out my position among others or with my phone.

The needlessly complex path is how I view my life so far, but when I see the direct path I still don’t take it. When I do see the path straight to where I want to be, I still take the path others tell me to go

I get sucked into being nice and helping someone out even when it hurts me and makes it harder for me to get where I’m going and also stops others from getting where they’re going. The fact it was a basketball player distracting me tells me that basketball (or maybe sports in general) is just a distraction for me and is preventing me from going where I want. The beautiful women didn’t care about me so I should stop worrying about them too. People don’t know or don’t care about others so I should either not care as much about strangers too or make sure I prioritize myself and what matters most to me before I offer to help others.

I asked Claude about this to get some confirmation bias and find anything I missed. This is what he said (paraphrased):

What you nailed:

Your core insights about distraction, people-pleasing at your own expense, and not taking the direct path even when you see it are powerful. The basketball distraction is particularly interesting—if basketball is something you spend significant time on but isn't aligned with your actual goals, that's worth examining.

Additional layers to consider:

The hazy memory/looking up your position on your phone suggests you might feel uncertain about where you actually stand in life—like you're not sure of your real progress or position. You're seeking external validation or information instead of having an internal sense of where you are.

Being told you're in 7th/8th when you thought 4th could reflect imposter syndrome or a gap between how you perceive your performance and how others see it (or how you fear they see it).

The hexagon grid for media day is fascinating—F1 drivers standing on marked positions for others to observe and photograph. This might represent feeling like you're performing for others' consumption rather than actually racing (doing the real work).

The wooden switchbacks and stairs aren't just complexity—they're also temporary, unstable infrastructure. Wood versus the permanent pavement suggests you might feel like you're navigating provisional, makeshift paths rather than established routes.

Jokic with the impossible amount of food is absurdly specific. Beyond basketball being a distraction, this image suggests someone else's abundance or indulgence blocking your path—perhaps you're watching others enjoy success while you're stuck helping them carry it?

Your main blindspot:

You focused on what you did wrong, but notice: you never actually got to race. You were prepared, you qualified, you belonged there—but you never got to show what you could do. The dream might be expressing frustration about being ready but unable to execute because of all these obstacles (self-imposed and external). It's not just about distraction—it's about the grief of missing your moment.

I then asked if Claude was familiar with the book Turning Pro as I made the connection between the dream and the book. This started a discussion about what my actual path towards turning pro is (I’ll keep you in suspense as to what that is, but for now I’m working on shedding off all of the excess I’ve been spending time trudging through out of duty). I have a prompt linked here for you to try this exercise on your own.

Until next week,

Ian