Have you ever noticed that when you’re talking to yourself… you’re actually talking to someone?
It’s a funny thought, but it’s true.
Some of the best conversations I’ve ever had weren’t with another person. They happened entirely in my own mind.
As I’ve been reading through thirty years of journals, one pattern keeps showing up: conversations with myself.
My journal from 1996 is the first time I can see myself discovering that process.
At the time, I was procrastinating on writing an Expired Listing package for real estate agents. I knew exactly what I wanted it to become. I just couldn’t get myself to finish it.
Looking back now, I realize every symptom of my ADHD was already there. I just hadn’t been diagnosed yet.
One thing I’ve learned is that an ADHD brain has only two timeframes:
Now. And not now.
If there’s no immediate consequence, it quietly becomes a problem for Future Dean.
The frustrating part is that creative people can already see the finished project in their minds. Mentally, it’s done.
Reality doesn’t work that way.
Reality moves at sixty minutes per hour.
One sentence at a time. One page at a time.
So instead of trying to force myself to work, I started asking questions.
Why are you procrastinating?
“What are you actually avoiding?”
“The expired package.”
“What specifically?”
“I can’t get myself to finish it.”
Then came the breakthrough.
You can’t take action on a noun.
You can’t take action on a noun.
“Finish the expired package” isn’t an action. It’s a label.
So I kept asking.
What would actually have to happen?
Write the main letter.
Write the offer.
Design the certificate.
Write the instructions.
One impossible task suddenly became four very possible ones.
Then I asked, “Which part would you enjoy the most?”
“The main letter.”
Of course. That’s the creative part.
“How long will that take?”
Two or three hours.
“When exactly will you do it?”
Six until eight tonight.
“Where?”
The Back Cave—my office.
Decision made.
The next morning I wrote something that made me smile thirty years later:
“I’m amazed how well the self-dialogue worked.”
That sentence captures the whole lesson.
The conversation wasn’t about motivation.
It was about clarity.
The resistance disappeared the moment I stopped trying to “finish the project” and figured out the very next physical action.
I still do this today.
Whenever I catch myself avoiding something, I don’t try to push harder.
I ask better questions.
Because your brain usually already knows the answer.
It just needs someone to interview it.
Maybe that’s the real value of keeping a journal.
Not because it records your thoughts.
Because it helps you think.
And sometimes the person asking the questions turns out to be exactly the leader the other part of you has been waiting for.