Taking Back Control
I’m still writing. Writing every day. And I’m doing pretty well. Clients sure are happy. Only me, not so much. Because writing for money and writing for joy are such different things. Writing for joy should be easier by analogy though. Why then have I just not been able to do it?
I don’t know.
Knowing isn’t the point either.
It’s doing that matters. I just have to write. Something. Anything. It’s like getting out on the road and running till you fall. The gym routine is not for me.
So I’m gonna start doing this with a little more resolve this time. It’s gonna take just as much effort as waking up every morning. But here’s what I’ve learnt. For those who aren’t morning people, there never comes a moment in the morning when you say – okay, I’m ready to get up now. It’s a pain at 5 am, worse at 6 am and simply excruciating at 7. Thereafter, it’s just like compound interest adding up roughly 20 percent per hour.
So if it’s going to be hard anytime you do it, might as well do it at 5 am and get it over with. At least you get to take a great picture of the sunrise.
I like that. That’s reason enough. (Got to buy a superzoom lens though.)
Okay. Hmmm. So here’s a thought – I’m gonna write about the things that are making me happy. Little things that may only last a moment. Tiny specks of color within a largely monotone world. Tiny straws that are keeping me afloat in this sea of depression boredom. Things like water droplets that hang on to the tip of the leaf, just long enough to let me take a picture, before they trickle off.
Things like my five year old forgiving my three year old for snatching his piece of chocolate (after swallowing his share). If the taller, stronger, older brother can forgive the weaker littler younger brother whom he can practically level with one blow, then there’s hope for this world.
There’s hope for me. And to that hope, I hang on.