If you only worked out when you felt like it, it would be as if you didn’t work out much at all. No one could see it, actually.
If you only wrote/painted/danced when you felt like it, then…
Inspiration and motivation are not as important as we like to believe. It’s not the words that bleed out of you that make the difference. They’re the icing on top, the spices and herbs… can’t survive by eating them.
It’s habit that keeps you going. It’s rehearsing over and over again until you feel like falling apart, it’s editing that novel until you hate it and can’t stand to read it again. It’s gruesome. It’s not pretty, but then again the lifestyles of the rich and famous are not as glamorous as we’d like to believe. It’s not all parties and travel and yachts, you know.
I wish it were different, but it’s not.
