Two things I can sleep with, yay, marinade in besides my killer sense of humor, is that all my published words are my own—every mediocre one of them.
They’re not my children. But I’m proud of them like they were. Some I like more than others. Others like some more than the rest, and they all have, unfortunately, inherited some genes from me.
What I like most about my writing is the same thing I like most about my workouts, my tough conversations, and my trips to Costco. I showed up. I may not have performed perfectly, but I did it and allowed myself to move on to the next thing requiring my attention.
Doing it often and in a way that makes you proud is more important than hitting the algorithm just right or beating everyone else…
Unless it’s to the front of the line for $1 hot dogs.
