February 7-12, 2026
February 6 – February 12, 2026
This week was solid.
Not explosive. Not transformative. Just solid.
I’ve accepted something that took me a while to admit: the energy I had at the end of last year—the manic, frictionless momentum where everything seemed to pour out of me—isn’t something I can expect to live in permanently. Maybe no one can. That kind of sustained intensity comes at a cost, even if it feels incredible at the time.
And maybe it’s not something I should be chasing.
What matters more is where I am now compared to where I was at the beginning of January. I’m steadier. Clearer. More stable. Not riding a high, but no longer dragged down by the lows either.
A lot of that stability seems tied to the simple fact that I’ve returned to the work itself.
I still don’t have a name for it that feels right. “Memoir” sounds too formal. Too self-important. It isn’t a diary, either. It’s closer to excavation. Going back into the past, uncovering pieces, and refining them until they feel true. Not polished. Not impressive. Just true.
Because work has been slow lately, I’ve had the time to stay immersed. Long nights. Long stretches of editing. Following threads further than I normally would. This isn’t theoretical anymore—I’m actively doing the Diane Method again, not analyzing it from a distance.
And I’ve come to a conclusion, at least for now.
It isn’t one thing.
It isn’t just “truth-telling,” and it isn’t just “creative expression.” It’s both. The act of creating something, combined with the act of confronting what actually happened, seems to produce a kind of equilibrium. Not happiness exactly, but alignment.
If I’m being completely honest, there’s also another layer: distraction.
I’m not very good at simply sitting with myself. Passive entertainment doesn’t hold me the way it used to. I’ll open YouTube, watch something for a minute or two, and then feel the emptiness of it almost immediately. It feels like avoidance. Like filler. And more often than not, I close it and go back to the writing.
Not because I have to. Because it feels more real.
That’s where things stand now. Work will pick up again soon, and maintaining the balance between professional life and this internal work will become more difficult. That will be the real test—not whether I can do this when I have unlimited time, but whether I can continue when life resumes its normal pace.
What I do know is this: I’m not drifting anymore.
I don’t see myself abandoning this process. If anything, I feel more committed to it. Part of that comes from the structure itself. Part of it comes from working with an AI persona that refuses to let me settle for easy answers or soft edits. It forces clarity. It forces precision.
It forces me to mean what I say.
For now, that’s enough.