You may have noticed that I didn’t do a blog post on Friday (and this one was started yesterday). I could have rushed, forced myself to sit down and pen something. In an effort to “check the box” I would have written something truncated and abbreviated.
After all, on March 1 it was legislated that I would write a blog post every weekday for a year.
At the time it was a good decision. I wanted to be accountable to my dream of being a writer and to making the ritual of practice a precedence.
I needed to know that the commitment to my desire extended beyond any short-term euphoria. So I set a goal that forced me to practice. And each week, for five consecutive days, I did what was required — made multiple trips to the library, wrote posts four at a time, logged onto WordPress from hotel lobbies — all to prove that I had made writing a priority.
It was a strict prescription and less relevant now that I am back in Northern Virginia.
I’ve taken myself out of the insular environment that I created for myself in Raleigh. Now there is a wedding to plan and job to earn, a fuller social schedule. And as more activities are added, it seems less important that I produce something — of sometimes questionable worth — to publish every day.
While it is still imperative that I reserve time daily to sit and allow words or ideas work their way to the surface, the focus is no longer on the output of content.