Now that I’m about two-thirds through this 100-Day Challenge, I thought I’d take a day to reflect on what I’ve been learning, what the process has been like, questions I still have—about writing and creativity, habits and sharing, about priorities and seemingly opposing, taffy-pulling forces of human nature in this practice, and about myself. 

I don’t know how many people are reading this blog, but if you’re keeping track daily, you’ve probably noticed that, well, the posts are almost-daily. Yeah, I’ve missed a few days. Including yesterday. And almost today. 

At this point it’s the 100-Day Challenge in about 106 days. Think of it as like the fifth sequel to 101 Dalmatians, when the dogs—I don’t know—adopt black and white spotted cats, squirrels and hamsters and tour the globe like four-legged Globetrotters managed by Cruella de Vil. 

Or something like that.

I keep thinking that I can catch up, do two challenges in one day a couple times. It hasn’t happened yet.

Some of the No-Blog days are due to impacted work days, when I get a great start on editing, researching, crafting and designing Stories to Last projects for my clients, and by the time I look up again, my neck sore, my brain feels too fried to string together more words or decide on a topic—even though I’ve got a long list—and I have to let the day pass. Or the day passes, and I just plain forget. (“Oh crap, I forgot to do my 100-Day Challenge yesterday!”)

Some of the gap days occurred on days crowded with just a lot of life, like yesterday: a rare sleep in, coffee with old friends, a loud argument amongst fellow family members, processing that family argument, then peaceful family pumpkin-carving, house cleaning, exercising the dog, a bunch of various life chores, improvising on a new recipe for dinner, taking photos of our sons impatient to get out the door in their Halloween costumes with their buddies, the giddy anticipation of our whoppin’ two trick-or-treaters. And finally, just giving in and cuddled on the couch with my hubby to watch Ted Lasso reruns.

Sometimes there’s just too much going on inside my head, that internal world buzzing on recent events, ambiguous feelings, problems to solve, just trying to figure stuff out.

Those are gap days.

Therein lies a conflict that’s not really a conflict. In this 100-Day Challenge I’m working on consistency. But it has to be with flexibility. Because that’s life. At any point in it. I happen to be in the “book-end years,” children on one end, aging parents on the other. And working full-time in between, the years with our teenagers precious and few before they’re out the door to college and fully independent (I loved what Michelle Obama says in her book, Becoming, that her mother told her, “I wasn't raising children. I was raising adults.” Yes!) 

Consistency is important because, among other things, it creates reliability, which in turn creates trust. And I have to trust myself. I spent way too long not trusting myself. In the past, I compromised self-care for doing what I thought others wanted me to do, you know that non-existent “right thing.” Even making little decisions could be excruciatingly difficult, sometimes even painful. But trusting myself, man, that feels good! Consistency is also a great ingredient in raising adults. If you think about it, even if your childless, we’re all raising adults: ourselves.

But flexibility is equally important. Because, bugger it all, I’m not perfect. I’m not always consistent. Whether unexpected events get in the way or I just make a different decision, sometimes the day goes in different directions than planned. There’s a great deal in life we can’t control. And we’re also emotional beings which creates layers of complexity in our existence. 

The lack of flexibility is rigidity, which often leads to judgment. Of others and ourselves. And in judgment-mode, sound, authentic writing is freakin’ impossible. It’s also mean to judge ourselves. I was never intentionally mean to others, but oh boy, I’ve been ruthlessly mean to myself. Been there; done that! I’m tired of it. No more. I’d rather be forgiving. Loving. 

What a relief!

So, consistency and flexibility have to live side-by-side, pretzeled together, embracing. 

In some of the best moments of writing, you get that great feeling that you’re “only the messenger.” The topic at hand—whatever it is—suddenly presents itself with requirements, if you’re really going to get at the nucleus of it. And your job is just to follow it to the end. 

Twenty minutes of writing can easily turn into three hours when the topic deserves depth, of reflection and research-based evidence. 

It’s actually a thrill when the subject or theme becomes the master dictating the language, the form, the metaphors, the tone, the phrasing. Even the syntax. You are but a grateful vessel, dispensing the words necessary to express some sort of truth. Some people call it “the muse.” Whatever you want to call it, it’s a cool feeling!

You have to deal with the consequences of the unexpected three hours though! And that can suck. Sometimes being responsible only feels good after the work is done. But ultimately, it’s good for the soul.

I’ve also learned something about sharing my writing. Although I can feel shy socially (I hide it pretty well with the training of social graces—and genuine appreciation for my community), I’ve always performed: acting, singing, speaking. I like connecting with an audience. 

But I finally get it. My writing—or any creative art for that matter—has to be for me first. It has to be something I want to explore, express, celebrate, reveal. Rather than for the sake of pleasing others. I’m finding if I go with what I want to say and share, my pieces are of more value to others. I’m closer to the truth. It’s real. And I think that is something we all crave. Plus, I’m having a damn good time. And that’s contagious. On stage and even on paper! 

I do feel more vulnerable. I’m sharing stories I’ve never shared before. Brené Brown would be proud of me! 

But strangely, sharing the revealing stuff, the tough stuff makes me feel like I’m standing in sturdier shoes. It’s ironic, since the misconception of vulnerability is that it shows weakness. 

I’m finding Brené’s right. Vulnerability is actually a place of personal power. It breaks the dam, releasing all kind of cool ideas and possibilities. And it’s damn exciting too. “The truth shall set us free.”

There’s also WIDE WORLD OF SPORTS moments in this 100 Day Challenge: “The thrill of victory and agony of defeat.” Sometimes I can think through a piece and the writing comes out smooth as melted chocolate in a fountain.  Other times, I start on one topic, abandon it for another, look at my expanding list of topics despairing that not one bullet point is calling to me, get distracted by emails, walk around. And either eventually get there. Or have one of those gap days in my 100 days making the math all wrong.

Still, it’s adding up for me. I’m learning a lot. I’m practicing. I’m really glad I’m doing this.