*Note: Copied over from morning pages journal vol. 14, personal journal vol. 17, dated 11/14/2023*

Hello and good morning.

If I can’t be honest here, then where can I be? Sometimes, as hard as this is to admit, I leave my notebook in the other room because it’s easy. Because I don’t want it nearby. Because I’d prefer to be lazy.

To not write.

And I let that eat me up.

Now, being lazy is nothing unique. This is not a revelatory experience I’m describing. If we asked 99 out of 100 people whether they’d like to do anything or nothing, they’d all say nothing. No repercussions? No real-world consequences? Nothing. And that 1 out of 100? They’re dead.

It’s not easy to admit that. While I’m sure me and the other 99 people are fine being lazy, we also know this is a world of work. Of trying. Of needing to get up to do something because if we don’t the world falls down around us. Hence the notion in the proposed scenario that being lazy consequence-free was so important. If we are lazy, bad stuff happens. Simple as that.

But, see, the thing is, I wanted this. I left a whole career, a whole life, behind to focus on this. To clear the mental space necessary to allow me to write, unabated, uninterrupted, to fully explore the space of my mind’s creation avenues. Hard to imagine new worlds when you have an entire year’s curriculum floating around inside the front of your brain.

This all to say that every time I leave my notebook downstairs, knowing it’s downstairs, that I could just get up, go get it, set it off to the side, and make notes in-between playtime with the boys, I feel awful. It’s an awful weight, sticking with me, dragging it down, leaving rust stains on my hands I can never quite wash off.

It’s okay to be lazy.

Just don’t forget your notebook.

Thanks for reading,

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