What’s a promise you made to yourself that you’ve actually kept?
A couple of years ago, I started writing again. I had always loved it, but somewhere in the busyness of life, that love had been crowded out. Writing became something I hoped I might return to one day.
At first, I wrote occasionally and shared a few pieces with friends. Then one of them suggested I start a blog. So I made myself a promise: I would write every day.
The promise was not to produce something brilliant each morning. It was simply to turn up, make space and put a few words on the page. I have now kept that promise for sixteen months.
Some days I like what I write. Other days I do not. Sometimes the words come easily; sometimes they need a little coaxing. But I write anyway, and I share the result.
I have learned that love sometimes needs a little help from discipline. The things that matter to us do not always survive on good intentions alone. They need a place in the day. Writing each morning has become that place for me.
The habit has taught me not to confuse quality with faithfulness. I cannot guarantee that every piece will be good. I can only decide whether I will show up. And somewhere along the way, writing stopped being something I hoped to return to. It became part of my life again.
I am no longer someone who wants to write. I am someone who writes.
The Afterword 
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