Love the process

Love the process. Sure. Why not? There's a reasonable chance that that's all you'll get out of it, whatever it happens to be.

It's a direct line to a goal by aiming at something other than the goal and, maybe, being satisfied without reaching it. Writing something here every day this year doesn't produce the best writing—how could it, rarely does anything get a real second draft, let alone a final draft, which would typically be part of a multiday bit of writing. It's the process that's important—sitting down and doing it. For myself. Same thing for the weekly newsletter. In the sure there's a measurable return working on it—actually I'm sure, I'm sure there is a negative return—but the reward is the work. "The reward is the work" is either insanely naive or a belief that something somewhere is compounding the investment of the effort.

Maybe nothing is compounding. Maybe nothing is an investment, only a cost. Maybe accounting only works with things that fit in tables. Maybe it's enough to enjoy the effort. Maybe some muscle you can't see is getting worked day after day by the resistance. Maybe a day will come when having that one particular muscle ready to go will be the difference. Maybe having the muscle ready without using it is good enough. Maybe there is no muscle. Maybe it doesn't matter if no one else recognizes the sense of growth you feel.

A line from Walden by Thoreau that comes to mind:

For a long time I was reporter to a journal, of no very wide circulation, whose editor has never yet seen fit to print the bulk of my contributions, and, as is too common with writers, I got only my labor for my pains. However, in this case my pains were their own reward. For many years I was self-appointed inspector of snow-storms and rain-storms, and did my duty faithfully; surveyor, if not of highways, then of forest paths and all across-lot routes, keeping them open, and ravines bridged and passable at all seasons, where the public heel had testified to their utility.

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