What Kind of Pain Are You Willing To Endure?

[Listen to an audio version of this blog here.]

I really hate writing sometimes. Not because I write bad things (I do), or because I write unimportant things (I do that, too), but because writing is really fucking hard sometimes.

I’ve been writing a long time, which means absolutely nothing other than I’ve had years of consistent practice. There is only one way to get better at something, and that is to do it consistently. I write *almost* every day. I also run *almost* every day. I exercise my writing like I exercise my legs and neither endeavor feels good all of the time. Most of the time it’s boring or monotonous or a struggle. But if every other aspect of my life were stripped away, I would still run, and I would still write. I can’t imagine a reality in which words and movement are not the cornerstone of my life. The pain of running long and hard, or the pain of grappling with words, is worth it to me. There is no forward progress without struggle, so I decided a long time ago to struggle at something I love.

A while ago, a guy asked me what I wanted out of life: a family, children, a big house, a husband. What did I see for myself? he wanted to know. The only way I knew to answer was to say that I see myself running and writing and living every day as fully as I know how. I don’t know if a family lies in my…