I have two minutes left before the commitment I made to myself for November dies on the very first day of November. And that happening would completely sum up my 2019. But doggone, I'm not giving up on the first day of November. I may lose momentum on the third day or get weary on the fifth or quit on the eighth, but I'm pressing forward on this first day.
See, 2019 was supposed to be my year of writing. Not only have I not written with any sort of commitment level, but other than instagram captions and facebook posts, I haven't written AT ALL. I haven't been able to make myself. There are several (actually more than several) other areas of similar failures in this calendar year, but this blog isn't about those.
This blog is about the time I made myself do it. The time I pushed myself even when I didn't want to and literally had nothing to say. Because part of my promise to myself in November is that writing isn't all inspired. Sometimes it's just the self-discipline of it that matters, not the words you say. So today, for this first day, I'm just showing up. Nothing pretty, nothing inspirational, nothing vulnerable, nothing but some words on a post. Just visual proof of life... just a beginning. And today, that's what matters to me.
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