Friday, February 27, 2009

The Hardest Thing

It's not easy getting up early to write or run. It's hard. Really hard.

In fact, it occurred to me the other day that once I've gotten out of bed and am loping down the road under a sky of stars, or I'm sitting at the computer trying to re-enter the world of the story, that is the hardest thing I'm likely to do all day.

My life is not hard. I have food and shelter and a job, and clothes and oxygen and I'm in good health. I even have hobbies, which are pretty much the definition of having more time than you know what to do with. But it's not easy, and I don't want it to be easy, and it shouldn't be easy.

But I have to admit some masochistic satisfaction in knowing that nothing will be that hard for the rest of the day. I don't think success is like winning the lottery, I think it's like building a house. Or a boat. You have to make it happen. And there's no way other than hard work. Anything less feels dishonest.

Or so I mutter to myself as I try to roll out of bed.

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