May 16, 2020•313 words
Ever since I started writing this blog almost a year ago, I was worried that I would eventually run out of ideas. That I wouldn't know what to write about one particularly uneventful and dull day.
Yet here I am, 362 original posts later. And yes - in November or October for ~6 days I just posted quotes - there was just so much work that week that I scaled down to the bare minimum. But even just posting these quotes required searching for them, picking the right ones, and finally posting them on the blog. Thus, I still consider them as posts.
Of course, throughout all these posts, many ideas have been repeated. Many have re-surfaced in a different form. But ultimately, every single one of them was at least a bit different. All 362 of them.
I never write posts ahead. I don't even write down ideas for future posts, at least not for this blog. It is truly like a journal. One idea for every single day, never going ahead nor back. If I can't think of a good idea one particular day, I'll go with the best one I have, even if it sucks. Some days, I feel like I could write 4, 5 or even 6 posts all at once. But I don't do that, never. For the sake of forcing my brain to create something new every day.
At this point, writing a new post feels like nothing. It's almost effortless most days. I just sit down and type. Usually I start directly in my notes app, but sometime the posts are born on paper, and then polished on the computer.
This blog, however good or bad it objectively is, has defined me the past year. And it'll keep defining me for as long as it will be possible.
The world has never looked that good.