The Difference Between Being Interested and Being Committed

Interested vs committed comes down to what you do when the goal stops being convenient: interest keeps the option open, while commitment changes your preparation, habits and willingness to learn. In my 2015 conversation with John Assaraf, that distinction connected his mentor’s life-changing question to something much closer to home: the nerves I felt talking to people I had looked up to for years.

I told John that sometimes, when I interviewed someone whose books I had grown up reading, I felt excitement and nervousness together in my stomach. I wanted to know how to manage it. This was not a question about somebody else’s excuses. I was asking what to do with the feeling that showed up while I was doing work I cared about.

His answer was not to wait until I became a different kind of person. It was to prepare, breathe and rehearse. Put that beside the story he told me about his own turning point, and commitment becomes more useful than a word you shout when you feel inspired.

The question Allan Brown asked before anything changed

John told me that between 13 and 17 he ran with kids who were shoplifting and breaking into places. Then he met Allan Brown, who owned a real estate company. Brown asked whether he was interested in turning his life around or committed to building a life with purpose, meaning and the financial means to contribute.

John asked what the difference was.

As John remembered it, Brown said interest meant doing what was convenient. He could keep believing he was not smart enough, keep his stories about missing knowledge and skills, and stay where he was. Commitment meant allowing Brown to mentor him and being willing to change what he believed, how he behaved and what he practiced.

John put the conversation on May 1, 1980. He said he moved to another city to be mentored, enrolled in his real estate course on May 5 and received his license on June 20. In his account, he earned about $30,000 in his first year, more than his father made driving a cab, and $151,000 in his second.

Those are the dates and figures John gave me, not independently audited results or an income promise. What matters here is what happened between the question and the earnings: a move, enrollment, learning and a year of practice. He did not just answer Brown differently. He let the answer change his days.

Interested vs committed shows up in the inconvenient part

I would use John’s distinction as a behavior check, not a label for deciding who is worthy of success. You can care deeply and still lack a skill, money, support or a workable plan. Calling every obstacle an excuse will not solve it.

But there is a difference between identifying a constraint and using it to end the conversation. Missing knowledge can become a question for a mentor. A weak skill can become a practice session. Neither improves just because you collect another motivational clip.

That is my practical reading of the conversation, not a guarantee that persistence makes every goal possible. Commitment can include changing a bad plan. The point is to stop letting convenience make every decision while telling yourself the goal is non-negotiable.

Do you want the work, or the motivation fix?

Early on, John had fun with the name Addicted2Success. He distinguished constructive patterns from destructive ones, then turned the question toward people consuming motivation, tips and techniques. Were they also behaving in ways that would help them achieve their goals?

I asked whether people should be chasing inspiration instead. He called motivation your motive for action and compared its short-term spark to gunpowder that fizzles out. Inspiration, as he defined it, was tied to values, purpose and the identity you wanted to live.

His examples were kids who did not want to come inside from surfing, skateboarding, chess or music. Nobody needed to drag them toward the activity. Something about it pulled them in.

I would not turn that into a promise that meaningful work always feels good. Even the work you love includes repetition and awkward conversations. But his question is worth taking seriously: what are you curious enough about to keep learning when nobody is cheering? If the only part you enjoy is feeling ready to begin, another spark may not be what is missing.

The old pattern can keep winning after the new decision

John used automaticity to explain why a sincere decision does not instantly become a different life. He described learning something with conscious effort until repetition makes the pattern more automatic. In his explanation, that could take 30, 60, 90 or 180 days, depending on the difficulty.

Those were his examples in that conversation, not a universal habit-building timetable. He connected them to neuroplasticity, the capacity for change that underpinned his teaching. His practical point was that the patterns carrying your current life may need interrupting before they can carry a different one.

There is a useful connection to repeating a routine until it runs on autopilot: deciding once is not the same as practicing consistently. Here, I would start by noticing the exact moment the old response takes over. Is it when you open the work, receive criticism or realize somebody might judge the result?

Choose a replacement you can actually perform at that moment. If you normally retreat into more research before asking a question, prepare the question and ask it. Do not demand an entirely new personality before you practice a different response.

Fear does not automatically cancel the commitment

John was building NeuroGym at the time. He told me he still felt fear around people who knew much more than he did about neuroscience and related fields. Their expertise could make him uncomfortable, even though having those people around was part of building the company.

That admission mattered. He was not describing fear as something he had permanently graduated from. He described the amygdala as a comfort-zone alarm and put his teaching plainly: fear does not mean stop; it means be aware.

I would keep the awareness part attached. You need to distinguish danger from the fear of being rejected, rather than treating every warning as an obstacle to smash through. Real danger needs a response. Ordinary performance nerves may call for preparation instead of withdrawal.

John’s surfing comparison was useful: one person sees the wave and backs away; another learns how to ride it. His phrase was turning fear into fuel. For me, the useful part is learning what to do with the feeling, not pretending the feeling has disappeared.

What John told me to do with the nerves in my stomach

When I admitted I sometimes felt nervous with guests I admired, John gave me something to practice rather than another reason to criticize myself.

1. Be prepared. Know the person and the activity. He acknowledged that I had done my research. Breathing was not a replacement for doing the homework.
2. Take 10 rhythmic breaths. He suggested breathing in and out rhythmically to settle the intensity, using the term neural coherence to explain what he believed was happening.
3. Mentally rehearse the activity. He suggested playing it through 10, 20, 30 or 40 times as if it were happening, rather than repeatedly imagining looking foolish.

These were his performance-preparation suggestions, not a clinical treatment or a guaranteed way to eliminate anxiety. I am sharing the practice he offered me, not claiming I later tested it and got a particular result.

He also used a memorable contrast: Frankenstein or Einstein. He described one side as replaying embarrassment and the other as the problem-solving CEO. That is John’s teaching metaphor; I would not treat his right-versus-left prefrontal explanation as a settled map of how thinking works.

The question underneath it is simple enough to use without the anatomy: am I rehearsing the task, or rehearsing my humiliation? For my own example, preparing useful questions and mentally walking through the conversation is a different activity from wondering whether I will sound like a fool.

Disappointment avoidance can sound remarkably sensible

I also asked John about disappointment avoidance. He described wanting not to disappoint parents or caregivers, then carried that forward to avoiding the hurt of disappointing ourselves. If earlier attempts ended painfully, another attempt can feel like volunteering for the same feeling.

He called the explanations we produce “rational lies.” That was his wordplay on rationalizing, not a dictionary definition. Not now. Not worth the effort. Something else first. In his account, we can talk ourselves out of the very action the goal requires.

I would test the explanation rather than automatically condemn it. What new information supports postponing? What would have to change before you would proceed? If the condition keeps moving every time you reach it, you may be protecting yourself from a feeling rather than improving the plan.

John’s parenting example kept this from becoming a lecture about being tougher. He said he separated the child from the behavior: the behavior could be unacceptable without making the child unloved. I would carry that distinction into reviewing your own work. A poor attempt needs correction, not a verdict on your value as a person.

Give the answer something to stand on

If I were applying this conversation today, I would choose one goal and name the inconvenient action attached to it. Then I would identify the missing preparation, the feeling I am avoiding and the person who could help me learn. That gives “I’m committed” something observable behind it.

At the end, I asked John what his last 30-second speech to the world would sound like. He said it would begin with “you have within you everything you need and there are people around you that can help you” and end with “I love you.”

I like that he left room for help. Brown’s question did not lead John into proving he needed nobody. It led him into being mentored. And when I asked about my own nerves, John did not demand a fearless version of me. He gave me preparation I could do before the next conversation.

Frequently Asked Questions

What is the difference between being interested and being committed?

In John Assaraf’s account, interest means acting when it is convenient while keeping familiar explanations for not changing. Commitment means accepting the learning, preparation and changed behavior the goal requires, even when the first excitement has faded.

How did John Assaraf distinguish motivation from inspiration?

He called motivation a motive for action and compared its short-term spark to gunpowder. Inspiration, in his explanation, comes from values and purpose that pull you toward an activity, like a child absorbed in surfing, chess or music.

Why does feeling fear not always mean you should stop?

John described fear as a signal to become aware, not automatically withdraw. First consider whether there is real danger. If the issue is unfamiliarity or performance nerves, his approach was to prepare and learn to act with the feeling.

What did John Assaraf mean by disappointment avoidance?

He meant avoiding action to escape the possibility of disappointing yourself or other people. Past failures can make another attempt feel threatening. His phrase “rational lies” described plausible explanations that protect you from discomfort while keeping the goal untouched.

What preparation did John suggest when Joel felt nervous?

He recommended knowing the activity well, taking 10 rhythmic breaths and mentally rehearsing it 10 to 40 times as if it were happening. These were his performance-preparation suggestions, not a guaranteed anxiety treatment or a substitute for professional care.