Currently it’s almost three in the morning, and I’d rather be reading. This afternoon I went for a walk, then started Turtles All the Way Down by John Green. It’s young adult fiction and just under three hundred pages, and I’m already two-thirds of the way through. Since I don’t get absolutely sucked into a book very often, I’d like nothing better than to curl up in this chair, immerse myself in story, and forget about the rest of the world until the last page has been turned. But, of course, I have this daily blog, so here I am–once again, world, it’s me–looking for meaning in the mundane, searching high and low for hope (come out, come out, wherever you are).

Honestly, I don’t know whose idea this was–trying to knock out a thousand-word blog every day for a year. A year–that’s been my goal for a while. I talked to my therapist about this recently and said that I didn’t know what I expected to happen after 365 days. Like, I don’t expect the sky to open up, for angels to descend with a bouquet of flowers, congratulations, and a check for a million dollars. Although that’d be nice–a parade would be nice. My therapist said, “Who knows? Once you hit a year, you may decide to keep going.”

Ugh, that sounds exhausting. But who knows?

Of course, writing every day for a year was my idea. But I don’t mind saying it’s not exactly easy pulling a thousand words and a life lesson out of my ass on days that, quite frankly, could easily be summed up like, “I went for a walk, I read a book.” Maybe another writer would make a day filled with those activities sound like a gripping adventure, but that’s not my style. Come on, waking up at three in the afternoon then taking a nap four hours later isn’t quite a-thrill-a-minute literature. And then I snored. And while I’m on the topic–why–why am I so tired anyway? I’m guess it could be the anti-histamine I took when I first woke up (which has been helpful), or maybe the fact that I was just sick for six weeks.

There’s an idea.

I know that I have a tendency (just a teeny-weeny tendency) to underestimate what a big deal things are. Like, I think I can be sick for six weeks then reasonably expect my body to be able to run a marathon three days after it’s initiated recovery–instead of thinking, Wait a damn minute, my body has been through a lot lately. (And by lately I mean my entire life.) I don’t know if anyone else is like this, but I’m guessing I’m not alone here. We go, go, go and push, push, push then get frustrated when our bodies run out of gas. So I’m trying to remember–my body has been through a lot–I’ve been through a lot–there’s nothing wrong with taking a damn nap.

Another area where I tend to underestimate things is this blog. Like, most the time I don’t think it’s remarkable that I’ve sat down to write and lay myself bare on a daily basis for the last eight months. But today I heard a quote about forming habits by the philosopher and psychologist William James that said, “Never suffer an exception to occur till the new habit is securely rooted in your life,” and I realized that’s exactly what I’m doing here–not suffering one exception. Sick or well, tired or full of energy, I’m writing. I honestly don’t know why it’s so important to me, why I’m more committed to this than I have been to anything else in my entire life. I mean, I don’t even floss every day. But I do know that if I skip even one day of writing before I get to a year that I’ll lose a lot of respect for myself.

The flip side of this equation, of course, is that by writing every day I’m building self-respect. I wouldn’t for a minute pretend that every word or blog I write is parade-worthy, but each is a piece of this giant puzzle, so each is ultimately important and valuable. From my perspective, there’s not a single night’s work that I’m not proud of because each is a link in this (so far) unbroken chain. So to anyone, including myself, who’s consistent about anything, please know–it’s a big deal, it’s remarkable, and it’s okay to be your own parade.

I didn’t mean for this to turn into a pat-myself-on-the-back session, but I think it’s okay, especially considering all the years I’ve spent beating myself over the head. (Patting yourself on the back is better than beating yourself over the head.) I guess a lot of us beat ourselves up when we don’t have to. We make a big deal about what we can’t do and where we don’t measure up and refuse to acknowledge where we’re knocking it out of the damn park. Honestly–and I don’t mean for this to sound like whining–being human is hard. That’s just a fact. Our bodies and souls are under stress from day one, and it’s not like there’s a rule book that tells you what to do when the shit really hits the fan. As my friend Suzanne says, “Life is like getting pulled through a knothole backwards.” For these reasons, I really think anyone who bothers showing up on this planet is courageous, that it really is a big deal to go for a walk and keep putting one foot in front of the other, to do the best you can as one day links to the next like an unbroken chain.