The muse’s sense of humour

My 21.5.800 challenge had been moving along quite smoothly. I was able to sit down to write, on my couch in comfortable clothes, of an evening and pump out at least 800 words happily. Yoga was sliding into the cracks in my schedule (especially savasana). Everything was feeling effortless. Until it didn’t. Until it wasn’t.

Sitting down for the first time I felt I had nothing to write. I scanned over my drafts and my notes looking for something to hook me. The feeling of resonance that calls me to write on something, anything, wasn’t there. I admitted defeat. Publicly. I tweeted the #21.5.800 community.

I sigh, deflated, defeated. Almost instantly… the flow begins. The very moment I step out of my own way, it flows. Thousands of words later, I stem the flow, in order to sleep.

What I know for sure: Expectation is the mother of disappointment. When I get out of my own way things unfold.