“I want to start sharing posts on Mind Nomad again.”
This thought has been playing on my mind for nearly 10 months. Every week started with good intentions: This will be the week that it happens. But somehow it’s January 2017 and I haven’t published a post since February 2016. Until today.
Today I was incredibly productive – although to an outsider, it probably looked like I was a lady of leisure. I didn’t get up until noon, with the exception of a mid-morning break for pancakes. I spent the entire morning writing in my journal, from the comfort of my bed, in my pyjamas. Some 30 handwritten pages later (yes, my wrist is feeling the pain), I went for a long walk in the sunshine. Then I came home for a late lunch (leftover pancakes), did some housework, replied to an email or two, and decided to call it a day. Living up to the freelancing stereotype (please don’t hate me).
If it makes you feel better, I didn’t earn a cent.
Earlier this year I set myself a goal of writing at least one blog post per week. I didn’t have an end-game in mind; I just knew I needed to set some wheels in motion. If I wanted to be a writer, I needed to write – frequently, no excuses.
I soon found a rhythm and managed to meet my self-imposed weekly deadlines. Some posts were mediocre. Some were good. Some were hard to write, let alone share. But I continued to hit publish, and it felt great. I was creating and contributing. I was choosing action over inaction. I was practicing my craft.