I’m sitting at the lodge’s bar and just had a tequila shot for my birthday. It’s technically not my birthday yet, but who cares. Dancing Queen by ABBA is on and everyone at the bar has their arms up doing a synchronized sway side to side. There’s always a reason to celebrate. 

Kris and Paul, my Scottish co-workers, are behind bar and they’ve done well in convincing me to stay down here instead of retreating to my room to write. They tell me I don’t need to write it and I tell them they’re wrong. They shout, “Just wait until you feel inspired!” – “Don’t edit! Just let it flow!” – “Who are you writing for anyhow?!” – “You’re overthinking it!” One shot has led to another drink. They’re hilarious and I’m happy. I know I’ll pay for this later with sleep, but fun sounds better so I stay. Everyone at the bar knows I’m struggling to write this and they offer material. We’re doing the disco move now on Paul’s cue. This is brilliant.

It’s hours later and I’m in my room. My eyes are heavy and as my alarm time creeps closer it becomes more and more tempting to “just cut it short…”, “write it tomorrow…”, “they’ll understand…”, “what’s 500 words if it’s just filling in space?”, “I don’t want to waste anyone’s time…” etc, etc, ETC. Excuses have a great way of showing up when you’re tired. There is always an excuse. Always. Relentless in their nature, generous in their offering of exit strategies, they always know how to make themselves appealing. Fortunately and unfortunately though, we always know better. Always. It’s just a matter of if we’re willing to show up, and of how well we’ve mastered quieting our intuition, dulling the knife of our will. 

While I’d love nothing more than to provide you with unfaltering perfection, today’s entry is no longer about ensuring a good read. This is not about digging up the treasure of an old memory or artfully describing a moment – this is about dedication now, showing up, doing what I said I would, no matter what.

Imagine a 1,000 piece puzzle. You spend hours sorting out the pieces, studying the angles, trying one fit and then another and then another. After days of effort, determination, desire, you finish the masterpiece and find an unfortunate truth: there’s one piece missing. A single piece gridlocking the entire puzzle from becoming complete. What’s worse than discovering you’re missing the final part? Remembering you actually once had that puzzle piece in your hand and decided to throw it away… because you were tired…or uninspired… or just didn’t feel like it. 

Maybe this piece of the puzzle looks boring or plain. Maybe it doesn’t move or shake or shed. Maybe it falls in the sub-par category and is swept along the sidelines. That doesn’t matter. It’s a building block. It’s a piece of the puzzle and the whole would be incomplete without it. It matters. It counts. 

“Done is better than good.” – Elizabeth Gilbert. 

To showing up.