I have nothing to say in particular, but one of the strident voices in my head is telling me that unless I manage to maintain at least one daily commitment (whether that’s meditating, writing or doing yoga), I will slip into the inescapable ruts of inertia, metastasize into a sloth, and thereby become incapable of doing anything worthwhile ever again.
While I realize that nothing in the above statement is necessarily true, this particularly strident voice is very effective in its persuasions (and has always been, which is why for most of my life, I’ve been very, very, busy).
So despite my recent vow to myself to stop doing things out of mere compulsion (and yes, many times, writing and doing yoga are things I simply do out of compulsion), here I am, doing something out of mere compulsion.
The strange thing is, compulsion can actually generate sustained activity. Apparently, momentum only needs itself for fuel.
Still, one does wish for heartier grist for the mill.