So good news: I've been writing. Not in here, obviously. And not too much. But enough so that I feel engaged in a thought process. Enough that I feel like I'm working on something that could take shape, or even just serve as a springboard to something else that eventually will. It's a form of inner peace, is what it is. My optimal formula for a reasonably balanced life always includes this type of project, even if it never goes anywhere. There's something in me that craves it. In terms of an optimal sense of equilibrium for me, I've broken down the other parts. There's the writing bit, then chill-out time with family and friends, lots of reading, a bit of alone time, some physical activity that I'm wholly enthusiastic about (right now running, but I'm on the verge of adding regular yoga again), thoughtful eating, plenty of treats. Work is work, I show up, do my thing, get paid, I'm good to go. Next to family it's the easiest part, as automatic as breathing. But the writing, man, it's so key, yet so easily neglected by me. If history has shown me anything, it's that I'm a self-sabotaging dodo. And I don't want to repeat that history another time. I can say it and wish it and get it tattooed onto my person but if I'm not forcing myself to keep it up, it's back to a naggingly lopsided state of mind. It seems so simple, but when I'm in dumbass mode, it doesn't seem to make a difference.
Just keep writing, dumbass, and all will be well. Hmm, maybe I do need that in tattoo form.
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