As a writer, I concur. I don’t wake up at 5, but sometimes I do when I’m on deadline and I’ve been procrastinating and I have to finish a piece by noon. I meditate, but not daily. Sometimes 20 minutes. Sometimes 3. But that’s only because I’m a recovering alcoholic and so I have a lot of time on my hands. I run. Intermittently. Even when I run, it’s more half walking and half jogging.
On the good days, I can stay focused and bust on 2000 words. On the bad days, I can’t stay off twitter, I’m agitated or in fear and I can’t manage to string together 200. My desktop looks like my brain exploded. My inbox has 687 unopened emails, most of them are junk. After I pay my rent today, I’ll have $4.54 in my bank account. I’m a fucking mess, too. And yet I’m a resilient mess. A persistent mess. And when it’s all said and done, I waitressed for 20 years just to be able to live the disorganized, chaotic life I’m living now, one where I get to write; and so for this particular mess, I’m extremely lucky and grateful.
Thanks for sharing this. I needed to read it today.