October 1, 2020•302 words
At last, here we are. Half of a thousand posts, day after day. Without a single one missed.
Wow. I'm impressed.
Every single day I'm breaking a boundary that seemed to be unbreakable the day before. Such long-term work made we truly switch from achievement-based thinking to process-based. I don't care about the numbers anymore, truly. Another hundred is not a big deal, as I wrote one hundred posts ago. Every single day, even the worst day of the year, I force myself to write. To confront the messy experiences, the unformed thoughts, and the ever-conflicting feelings.
I suck at writing. I'm considerably good at putting words together, but I wouldn't call all of this writing. This is purely exercise, the 10 000 hours one needs to put into a skill to truly master it. A writer writes books, not blog posts. They think long-term, create one story from multiple experiences; I write multiple stories from a single experience.
This is my book. A jarring misinterpretation of a book, rather. A delirious wanna-be of a book. The posts are somewhat random; all that connects them is this distant search for balance. A word I still do not know the meaning of. Sometimes, I think I feel what it means, but certainly do not know. Other than that single connection, the posts are a hot mess. Just like myself.
When will I stop? No one knows, especially me. I have this arbitrary goal of 1000. But that's just a number, maybe The Search will die out tomorrow. Maybe on January 1st. Maybe on the 1000th day. Maybe never. When I reach a thousand posts, I'll look back and reflect. See all the work and see life; the ups, the downs. The crossroads, the clear paths.
Maybe I'll write a real book then.