Uncle Freddy's bench with leaves

I can’t explain why some days when I sit down to write in my journal, the words flow easily while on other days my thoughts and words are halting. On some days, my mind locks onto a track of thought and my scribbled sentences come easily, and on other days my words are halting and my attention gets snagged by anything but the blank page before me.

Dessicated

It’s not exclusively a matter of having “something to say,” for on some days I blather quite easily about nothing while on other days, my words and thoughts trip over the Profound Thoughts I want to convey. For whatever inexplicable reason, some days are smooth and some days are choppy: there is no rhyme or reason to it, just as there is no logical explanation for why some days it feels easy to meditate and on others it feels like torture simply to sit still.

Neither meditating nor writing necessarily gets easier over time; you just learn to keep doing it–to keep showing up–whether it feels easy or difficult, smooth or choppy. After you learn that it’s possible to write or meditate even on choppy days, it becomes easier to keep doing it consistently, even though there are plenty of days when the actual doing feels difficult. Like walking the dog in all seasons, you learn to roll with whatever weather the day offers, persevering even when the way feels difficult.