There’s nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.
Last week I wrote a post called Why I will do Bikram yoga until the day I die. A bunch of people read it. This happened to my reader statistics.
I am overwhelmed with gratitude for the messages, emails and comments I received that said things so nice I can’t begin to repeat them without crying. Y’all are very, very kind and I am so appreciative to all of you who took the time to read and respond. I especially love hearing the stories of your journeys. Thank you.
I won’t lie; when your blog readership explodes overnight, it’s mighty nice. Especially because I am writing about the things that I really care about.
But then, there appears this moment.
This moment when the applause dies down and it’s just me and the blank page again.
The people-pleaser in me wants to write for you. Write something else that people will request to post on their yoga studio bulletin boards. Part of me wants to play to the cheap seats and write for the hits, trying to break my new daily record.
But that’s not what brought you here. You’ll see right through that. You’ll catch on because it won’t be from my heart.
So, I’ll keep writing what I need to write or else I’ll burst. I’ll keep writing the truest things I know. I’ll keep writing for me and I’ll keep opening that vein and if you continue to find something relatable here — that’s fantastic, too.
Thank you for your help in creating this growing community of yogis, wanderers and joyful spirits. I’m happy to be part of it.
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