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900 Posts in 900 Days

900? What an odd number. It’s not 750, but it’s not 1,000. Almost there.

Almost where? What does 1,000 mean anyway? Nothing, it’s just a number.

What happens when you write everyday? It’s a secret, but the answer is easy to find out, you just have to do it and you’ll know.

I feel like I’m part of an elite club, but there are no meetings and, well, no members. But still, that’s how I feel. Maybe the club is just me, but hey, it’s elite. Why is it elite? Because I say it is.

I’m not at 1,000, but it’s so close it almost doesn’t matter at this point. I’m running a marathon and I’m at mile 25 but I’m not tired and I’m not bored. I’m proud, but I’m not done yet. But even when I finish, when I hit 1,000, I’m not done.

It’s the journey, not the destination.

I know, I know, cliché. But clichés don’t come out of nowhere. I think back to our world trip. We didn’t have a destination other than coming back home at some point, but even that destination changed as we didn’t move back to where we started. Nowhere felt like the end, although the beginning was quite remarkable. I remember when we hit three months (we traveled for twelve months), we both thought that three months was a good amount of time to travel, to really let go, let loose and let be. After that, it was all gravy.

I’m not as interested in 1,000 as I was 100. Today is 900. Today is where I am. I’m not at 100 and I’m not at 1,000. I’ve been there and I’ll get there, but today I’m 900. I just realized my philosophy hasn’t changed, but it’s grown (2003: Where I Am).

100 days of this experiment was a milestone, it was a big deal, it was important that I achieved it. Everything after that has been gravy. Traveling around the world made me a traveler. Writing everyday makes me a writer.

It’s no longer what I do, it’s who I am.

I don’t know if you can easily turn “doing” into “being.” I don’t think it happens after one day. But I’m not sure there’s a guarantee after 1,000 that you’re doing has transformed into being. I think it’s part of that secret club: you know you’re in when you know you’re in.

Are you in? You’re welcome to join. Membership is free. Well, not really.

  • Possible: do
  • Impossible: be
  • Repossible: do to be

I’m a writer because I write.

What makes me happy? Walking home from school with my kids and taking photos of flowers. Simple, right?

What makes me happy? Walking home from school with my kids and taking photos of flowers. Simple, right?

By | 2017-05-24T13:27:36+00:00 March 16th, 2015|Writing|2 Comments

About the Author:

Bradley Charbonneau was sitting with his 8-year old reading a bad children’s book when he said to his son, “We can do better than this … and you’re going to help me.” Then they did it. He hasn’t stopped since.

2 Comments

  1. Hermann March 17, 2015 at 8:29 am - Reply

    Thanks Bradley for your awesome consistency.

    I think. Does it make me a thinker?
    I am a thinker when I am not thought.
    And these times are rare…

    Cheers,

    Hermann

    • Bradley Charbonneau March 18, 2015 at 3:59 pm - Reply

      Yes, thinking makes you a thinker. I think that not everyone thinks. I know you do because you state that you do, which means you think about thinking. So you’re a thinker.

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