My classmates and I were becoming hysterical on Friday afternoon. Another onslaught of terms to memorize, palpations to practice, and muscles to learn.
I'm really enjoying the challenge.
luckily, my attentional fitness is getting better and better. I spent the whole summer break working diligently on my writing, often spending 5+ hours zeroed in at my laptop or my notebook.
I ran out of prepared articles to post to Substack and decided to post an excerpt from a novel I’d started in 2022 that I don't recall writing. I once heard of some ancient guy who said you should write poems then put them aside for 7 or 9 years, re-read them and see if they're still good before sharing.
I keep doing that by accident.
I find songs I wrote in 2012 and say, hey, that's pretty good. I found this novel and thought, huh, sounds like the James Salter novel i just read, maybe it's worth posting.
not to brag. what I'm trying to say is, it's never too late. We live within such a fabricated sense of urgency these days. how many wonderful things were tossed out because of the pressure to make it, and make it perfect, ASAP?
my life is a balancing act between “if not now, then when?" and “slow down and enjoy the ride."
I stopped checking Instragram for what's current.
I dug up the project.
I pulled out the old notebook.
I revisited the forgotten hobby.
there's wisdom threaded through all of it, messy and incomplete.