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Sometimes I start from the title, but often it comes last.
Sometimes I have the whole post in my mind before typing the first word.
Other times I have an idea or at least one word to start with.
Sometimes I have nothing but a blank page and an empty mind.
Some mornings I have so many thoughts running in my head that I couldn’t pick one to start.
Some mornings I feel inspired and eager to start writing.
Others, I feel dull, and I’m worried nothing will come up.
There are mornings in which I know what I want to say, but I can’t find the words to say it.
Others in which I have the terms, but I can’t find a way to glue them together.
Some mornings I write things that I didn’t know were in me, and I surprise myself.
Some days these fifteen minutes fly, and when the timer goes off, it feels like being awakened midway on a nice dream. And then there are those days in which it feels like an eternity, and I have to push myself to keep writing.
Some mornings I am pleased with what I wrote, others not so much.
Every morning is different.
This morning, for instance, I sat to write about something that came up in my yesterday evening walk. Instead, this post came out of my fingers, and I have no idea where it is coming from.
I’ve learned to appreciate everything that emerges in the process. And share it, no matter what.
Even when, like this one, I’m not sure what I’m trying to say.

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