I’m struggling to come up with a topic to write about today.
And part of me wonders… wouldn’t it be better to write and publish only if I have something potent and juicy enough to share?
…Like, why force myself to write something every… single… day?
And then the other part of me remembers… there isn’t a day I write that I don’t struggle.
It’s rare that I ever sit down to write and know exactly what I want to say or exactly what story I want to share.
And even on those days… I don’t think I would recognize the insights or stories as they unfolded in my day if I didn’t have an obligation to myself to write… if I didn’t have my daily time block and space… if I didn’t force myself to look inward and be patient as my mind settles…
And what never ceases to amaze me is where that little bit of forced inner work leads me… like how I arrived here… with this one minute daily piece typed out… a staple in the legacy of my writing… a gift that just might be well received… something made from nothing…
And something that definitely never would’ve been… if I left it up to “when I feel like it” or “when I have something potent and juicy enough to share.”