Morning pages fail because this pen won’t write. And so, I find an altenative. Not my personal preference but this will work.
My eyes need glasses (finally) and things are a little blurry. I can still see.
These lines are the minutes of my life that I can’t write onto. Because I am missing a writing utensil. All spent and nothing left to mark.
Resting. Doing one thing at a time. Closing my eyes to sleep instead of working and achieving. Prioritizing stillness and quietude above all else. Finding it difficult because it is against the societal norm. No striving. No achieving. No accolading.
Today is day 1 (yet again, which I used to lament but I choose to see differently. Another opportunity. Another day to live. To try again).
Of two meditations. 1 hour in morning. Done.
1 hour in evenings. Tbd.
Morning pages done, though not following the script.