Today marks my 500th consecutive day of writing a daily blog post.

I can’t avoid any cliché: Blogging everyday has not made me a million bucks. Nor has it made me famous. And yes, you already know, it’s changed my perspective and I no longer believe in writer’s block.

“People still blog?” Answer: People still write snarky YouTube comments? People still post shitty Facebook photos of the moon? Real answer: People still share their thoughts online. Will always share their thoughts online, always expose what’s on their mind in a never-ending self-congratulatory display of wit and outrage. Wit and outrage: chocolate and peanut butter.

I do this everyday because I’m happiest/most alive/most focused/most present when I’m creating something. I don’t plan. I don’t strategize. I have no prompts. As far as process goes, I simply pay attention. To myself, to what interests me. That’s it. No secret formula. I haven’t yet exhausted myself writing these because I see no horizon. The more you admit that you haven’t got a clue, the more you have to write about. Turns out I really don’t have a clue. So perhaps I’ll still be writing these posts when I’m 65, 75, 85. 90? Will I finally have a clue by the time I’m 90? Who knows.

You create things that you want to see/hear/taste/smell. And then you share them with an audience because the creative loop closes only in somebody else’s eyes/ears/tongue/nose. First you cultivate taste; what is good and what is not so good? And with your cultivated taste you satisfy yourself; do I like or do I not like this? Rinse and repeat. And then eventually you share with you’ve made with other people. On and on and on. Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat. 501, 502, 503, 504…1,947, 1,948, 1,949…

How to be creative everyday? It’s not the creation itself that you defend. You defend your potential to create. You defend that goddamn thing like it’s your goddamn baby. You daily fend off doubts about yourself. You daily kindle your creative spark because Lord knows how few caustic remarks from apparently well-meaning people it takes to extinguish your desire to create. You create because fuck all. You create because yeah sure it’s narcissistic whatever but who gives a fuck it’s not like I’m hurting anyone or anything so kindly please fuck the hell off, thank you.

Creating is medicine. Medicine with side-effects. Side-effects you’re well aware of. You accept the risks, and you accept the rewards, whatever they may be.

…really, what I’m after is truth. Truth about who I am. Or something approximating that. What I’m fit to do, things that I can do well which yield the most good for both myself and other people. And by Good, I mean “too ambiguous to define but I know it when I see it.”

You know it when you see it. Go make something like that.

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