10 Years of Practice

Today marks the 10-year anniversary of this blog.

I couldn’t have done it without developing a practice. Of course, when I started, I didn’t have one. The practice emerged over time by showing up daily to do creative work without obsessing over outcomes or waiting for inspiration to arrive. The habits came after doing the work (not before). The decision to write every day was made once, 10 years ago—and everything since has been about honoring that commitment over and over again.

Most importantly, a practice means showing up when no one is watching. It’s learning to trust the process and embracing the constraints (it’s Saturday Night Live, not Sunday Morning Recorded). It’s what Chinese philosopher Layman P’ang pointed to over 1,200 years ago: “Chop wood, carry water.”

(In fact, this is my second draft of this post. I somehow deleted the first one. I felt deflated, gave myself two minutes to grieve, and then opened a new document and began typing again.)

As Seth Godin has written, “The ocean is made of drops. And our practice turns those drops into something of significance.” Over time, the practice gives something back. It creates a body of work you can point to and say, “This is me. This is what I do.”

Most of the early posts aren’t very good. But I wanted to write. And over time, I got better. The practice of writing something every day—of shipping something, of making something—despite all the turbulence in the world has taught me to be resilient in the face of adversity. After all, ten years of writing every day isn’t given. It’s earned.

I don’t have many subscribers. Many, many times, I could have quit. (Who would I be disappointing?) There was no monetary reason to show up—it’s not my job. And yet, this has been one of the most important decisions of my life. It has taught me that despite all the excuses and drama, I can still sit down and write to you. Because, in the end, that’s what a practice is for. Showing up, over and over, is how resilience is, well, earned.

To everyone who reads this: Thank you.

And you’ll know where to find me for another decade—or two, or five, for that matter.