Day 7 of my 31-day writing challenge – a self-imposed challenge to write for one hour every day for 31 days.
It’s the lunchtime break at the workshop. I have exactly 65 minutes before we start the afternoon sessions. Everyone else headed to The Cheesecake Factory, and I’m choosing to spend this time sitting in the hotel lobby to fulfill my daily writing commitment. As much as I don’t feel like it now, I know I won’t feel like it later.
I’ve got plenty of excuses to skip today, some of them are even borderline legitimate.
I’m hungry. It’s Day 4 of my daytime fasting experiment to help my body fat-adapt and to lose a few pounds I let pile up last week. I’ve eaten 5500 calories over the past four days. That’s one day for me when I’m in heavy-duty training mode.
I’m tired. I slept four hours last night, rolling out of bed at up a 4:15am for a 6am flight. I’m mentally depleted – I know this because I took a Lyft from LAX to all the way to Santa Monica before realizing that I needed to be Redondo Beach instead. That was awesome.
I’m now without an executive assistant because she resigned this morning. I understand her decision, and I’m in full support, yet someone that doesn’t make the magic elves appear to check off the unfinished tasks that need attention.
I’d rather be eating with the rest of group at The Cheesecake Factory.
I’d like to take a nap.
I need to spend time working on company tasks and recruiting a replacement EA.
But somehow all of that can wait because I made this commitment to myself. That’s the magic in throwing this challenge at myself and when I’m done this writing block, I’ll have words on the page.
I knew it would hard. My schedule is my schedule. Life is life. No day is perfect.
That’s the magic of commitment, and the purpose of this challenge to myself. I wanted to see how I could manufacture the time to do that which brings me joy: Write every day.
It’s is forcing me to concentrate, forcing me to adapt, forcing me to do the best I can with whatever haymakers come next. These conditions are my choice – I could have changed my flight. I could eat the tin of sardines and chomp on the energy bar sitting in my backpack. I could have built a backup system for the work that needs to be done.
I tell myself that this will make me stronger and more tolerant. I imagine this will aid my training and strengthen my mindset for the next time I’m on the trail, miles from the next aid station low on water with aching quads and a turning stomach.
But maybe this thinking is just absurd and I should eat lunch or take a nap. But I don’t, and I won’t, because this is important to me – to stretch myself a little longer, a little farther.
Given everything, I’m surprised I don’t feel worse. I’m here, awake, sitting and writing, and that brings me joy.
Go farther.