2026-02-23
I've been feeling better from my flu, but not fully.
It makes writing here an even tougher task, but I know that once I get the ball rolling, I'll finish out just fine. Even with the embedded routines, workflows, and whatever else, the difficult days are still undeniably difficult. But instead of letting that get in the way, I think it's important to let that add color to whatever decides to come out onto the page. I know that as long as I keep searching for that next word, something will come out. It may not be beautiful. It may not be artistic. And, of course, there's a high chance that it likely won't even be good.
But it'll be something, and that matters more.
I've already displayed a strong proof of concept here. There's not really anyone who writes like I do; in this medium and context, there's not really anyone who writes "from the ground," so to speak. Many of us have that inner narration throughout the day, but most of us—bloggers in particular—do what they can to condense that experience into something that can be neatly tied into a nice rhetorical bow, structure and all. Here, each day is a bead that contributes to an overarching thread. The most significant part is that each entry is written by the day, and to a greater extent, by the moment.
For me, it's important to take my personal thoughts and feelings and craft them from a literary perspective. I want to take what I've learned from great writers of all mediums and genres and incorporate them into a single unified piece. The real-time nature of it is the most fascinating and unprecedented part: the story is being told as it's being lived. That's something not even a format like a documentary can do. Curation is a minimal aspect of this format; it has to be so that the moment can express itself in the least filtered way possible. Of course, there are still moments of curation, conscious or otherwise. Self-censorship happens all the time and is essentially unavoidable.
But even then, I have direct control over every filter.
My whole ethos behind this project comes from tapping into that voice that's always in my head. Most of the time, it can lull in the background where it dictates whatever thoughts I'm having. Bringing that voice into the foreground and channeling it to type these sentences is an intense meditative task, but one that bears many fruits, particularly at the level of consistency I strive toward. The most important thing I've learned is to take off as many of the unnecessary censors as I can. What I've come to realize throughout this whole process is that the voice refines itself not just from head to keyboard, but the other way around, too.
The more the words come out here, the better the ones in my head are throughout the rest of the day when I'm not writing something. It's something most people don't actively train or even have access to, but for me, the rewards for my effort have only compounded. It's only been about six months, but I think I've seen the most positive change in my life because of maintaining this practice in this specific way. I was journaling actively for about a year before I decided to publish Cogito. I thought that I needed a place to write that wouldn't give me the fear of judgment, and for that year, I trained my voice diligently in silence. But now that this project is public-facing, that change in stakes makes a significant difference.
I've become more acutely aware of my self-censors: the necessary ones, the harmful ones, and the ones that I didn't know about until I confronted them on the page. We all have this kind of process we work through in one way or another, and all of life revolves around tuning into the frequency of our highest selves. It's a constant process of becoming, with slips and all, but I know that as long as I maintain some kind of connection to it through my writing, it will result in something that is truly good.
Not phony good, not selfish good.
Truly good.
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