5:21 am.

I sit face to face with my notebook, occupied by what I love more than anything in the world. Writing.

I have rarely come upon a word that fully describes what I feel when I write. It’s like a bite of Turkish delight.

I trust my instinct. I write with integrity.

I write about all and nothing. I just jot it down.

I knew from an early age I was a good writer because I didn’t mind fixing what I wrote. I understood it was all in the “post-”. There is no such thing as too much written; only removal. A good writer puts it all down and skims the unnecessary.

We all want to go beyond what we can achieve. We all picture ourselves in big moments, our ego off the roof, reaching for that prize. Most probably why we never end up grabbing it.

The simplest things, done consistently, yield the most profound results.

My mornings are a thrill because I know I am going to write. The night before, I fix all the small details: tidy, de-clutter, rest my notebooks and their respective pens on the table, plug my low light, wipe my glasses clean, place the rakwe on the gas burner. At 5:21, I am already writing.

To be good at something, to enjoy it fully, you have to live for the boring tasks.

No fast results. No speed. No despair whenever it dawns on you that it takes time to achieve.

To hit that fucking mark. To look behind and recognise you’ve done it.

Have the guts to go above and beyond.

Put those running shoes next to the door. Put that pen on the table. Write in your head before inking it on paper.

Be out in the open.

Commit.

Love, R. ♡