Inconsistency

 It’s this exact thing.

What’s happening to me right now.

Losing it.

It was consistent. For a few weeks there I was writing, it excited me. Maybe it’s all dopamine. But I really did –do-- feel passionate about this project. So why are a few weeks my breaking point? Is there a way to get back on the train?

You know, I got a bit ill, and a bit busy, and my degree started whipping my back, and the things I really love started to fall through the cracks.

I didn’t want to open this page when I felt like I couldn’t, because the last thing you want is for your personal projects to feel like chores.

So what happened to the consistency? The just doing it. The nike-tick of it all.

I was very happy with the quality of writing, that I was giving good advice, that I was coming from a place of real knowledge, in my first few posts. But its hard to always show up like that, with the max you feel capable of, pushing the ideas, putting in maximum effort, all the time.

Sometimes you have to fall back, on those years you spent writing in your bedroom, kicking your feet on your bed, paper intertwined with the duvet. 

Sometimes its just trusting whatever experience you have, and believe that, even if you don’t feel spectacular and special pushing the words out, that they’ll still sit true.

Because being consistent isn’t about reaching that same high, putting in maximum effort all the time, each week keeping exactly the same quality from the week before. That would be awesome, but its just not possible.

The glass doesn’t have to be as full every single day. You are not a machine, or at least, I hope you’re not. You cannot output, always, a magical print of just how good your last project was.

Instead, consistency can be just getting the laptop out again. Even if you’re not quite sure your advice will be as accurate, or your prose as polished. Make something that might not be as great, but is proof you have shown up. Glass a little emptier this week. Not a carbon copy. Just you, and the pen, and trying again. And you know what, maybe it’ll be alright. And next time you can feel like the next great American writer, but right now, you’re only as much of a poet as you have the time to be.

Never stop never being perfect,

H.G Lightly x