Yet, I Write
This is Not Interesting At All
I tend to be an all or nothing kind of thinker. I don’t like this about myself. It means that if I can’t get the whole house clean then I won’t clean any of it. It means if I miss a day of exercise, the whole plan goes out the window. It means if I can’t write every single day for 365 days, then I won’t write at all.
I missed another day of writing yesterday. The day before that was nothing to be too happy about either. Today’s is shaping up to be even less appealing than Brussels Sprouts.
Yet, I write.
This is what the twelve steppers call “progress, not perfection.”
Today makes 67 short essays I’ve published since celebrating my 49th birthday in May. Today marks the 10th week I’ve been writing daily. I will continue to call it “daily writing” even though there should be 71 essays for it to be truly daily.
Because I tend to be an all or nothing kind of thinker, there is a voice in my head that taunts me.
“You can’t keep this up. You won’t keep this up. Why did you think this would be a good idea anyway? You might as well quit.”
Yet, I write.
I still have a long way to go. I still don’t know what the BIG LEARNING is from doing this. But, I am learning. I’m learning that I can be disciplined enough to do something daily. I’m learning that even when I fail at that, I can pick it back up and keep it going. I’m learning that Hubby and I often remember things differently and that we enjoy talking about our memories — especially our teenage years. I’m learning that this isn’t just a void into nowhere and there are people who actually read it. I’m learning to be more clear in what I have to say. I’m learning to trust my own voice. I am learning.
So, I’ll just keep writing even on days like today when it consists of yammering on about writing instead of writing something interesting.
Yet, I write.
This is Year 49 . . .
