The quiet fire

discipline as an act of love

The first buds of the season

It’s hard to believe that we’re at the end of February, tapping gently on the door of March and the arrival of spring. As I write this, we’ve just had a light blanketing of snow—hopefully the last of the season and not confusing to the very early buds that I’ve been spotting on some trees. It’s a tender time of year—when we’re at the very beginning of the gentle slope towards seasonal renewal and resurrection, but not quite there yet.

These days are especially fortuitous. We just began the Year of the Fire House in the lunar calendar: a year that’s supposed to be all about forward motion, progress and momentum. This year, the Lunar New Year coincided with the new moon, a solar eclipse, the beginning of Ramadan and Lent (the first time in 36 years that the fasting period of the two faiths has aligned). So clearly we’re in an incredibly powerful moment, cosmically speaking.

This has definitely been playing out for me on a personal front. ‘Forward’ is my word for 2026, in alignment with the lunar calendar. I was also born in a Horse year—1978. So all of this to say: I’m in my ‘stepping intentionally in the direction of my dreams’ era. But more notably (and surprisingly), I’m doing the work that this implies. Making the space. Marrying intention with action. Doing the damn thing.

This is a new phenomenon for me, dear reader! I tend to get fizzy with new ideas. I have grandiose visions of the things I want in my life. But doing the work in service of these things on a consistent basis—with discipline—has never been my forte. Discipline isn’t a sexy word. But what I’m learning is that it’s a practice of love, towards oneself. And if Forward is where I want to go this year, then showing up every day is how I get there.

The most tangible way that this new direction is manifesting is in my relationship with writing.

Since launching this newsletter (at the time called 44 Revolutions) and beginning to share my words publicly in the latter part of 2022, I’ve been largely flying by the seat of my pants. Given the realities of a day job, parenting and other responsibilities (including the Nature Nurture Nourish retreat), writing has been something I’ve squeezed in the margins, seizing moments when inspiration found me and typically eeking out my missives at the last moment.

This year, I decided that the margins weren’t enough.

I want to improve my craft. I want to publish two poetry collections that are in the making (stay tuned for more news about Filaments). I want to submit to literary magazines and contests. I want to write books and have many scraps of ideas hovering around. I want to be in literary community.

It’s a lot. But it starts with a simple thing. The thing itself—writing. And with Forward as the vision, I decided this year to make intentional and sustained space for it. There are debates as to whether one should write every day. Everyone has their process and their journey, but in my own case I decided to give it a try. It being a daily writing practice.

This has meant that on most days since the beginning of this year, I’ve woken up early (5am). I have never been (and am still not) a morning person, but I decided that if I want to fit in a decent stretch of writing time into my daily routine, this was the time to do it, when my mind is open and untouched by the noise of the day. What I’ve discovered is that there’s something very special about this time of day. The house is completely quiet, except for the hum of the heater. I’ll slip on a warm hoodie and cozy slippers and light a candle. Some days I’ll make myself a cup of coffee. And then I’ll sit my butt in the chair and get to it.

“I then did what you do when you get serious about a project or a pursuit: I cleared space for it. I cleaned off my desk, literally and figuratively.” — Elizabeth Gilbert, Big Magic

I start with morning pages, using the container of three blank pages written in longhand. In my notebooks, I jot down dream fragments, bubbling ideas, plans for the day and whatever quandaries I may be pondering. On most days, I follow this up with another 45 minutes to an hour of working on a writing project. In January for example, I spent some of this time doing Suleika Jaouad’s very cool 30-Day New Year’s Journaling Project. It was such a generative month, with interesting prompts each day (e.g. “What question do you want to live inside this year, rather than answer?”), always accompanied with inspiring musical pairings. On some days, we were asked to scribble or draw. Another day, to collage.

On the last day of of the project, we were invited to write a personal manifesto for our journaling practice going forward, possibly starting with the refrain “I reach for the page.” The manifesto I wrote was more for my writing practice in general, and it’s now pinned up at my desk as a reminder:

So that’s the thing: I’ve been reaching for the page, each and every day, in the space of these early morning hours. Outside of the journaling project, I’ve been using the time to work on my biweekly newsletter dispatches as well as writing some new poems. And speaking of poetry, in January I was published in Haikuniverse, which shares daily haiku and micro-poetry. It’s technically my first poetry publication, and let me tell you I was so excited!

I’ve also been attending and reading at a few poetry open mics around town (my favorite is the “If All The Trees” event at the American Poetry Museum, usually hosted by the wonderful Sasa Akil). The open mic feels like such an alchemical space, fused as it is with the energetic exchange that happens when humans share their words with each other. I look forward to more.

“If All The Trees” open mic

All of this to say: I’m moving in the direction of the life of writing. And at its essence, I’m learning that being a writer, in whatever form, comes down to a pretty simple thing. You’ve got to write. That’s it. And in my case, I’ve found that carving out the time and space for a daily practice anchored in a routine has been downright transformational.

It’s a discipline. And discipline is new territory for me, a department in which I’ve always felt lacking. But I read something shared recently by the Loveland Foundation that gave me a reframe, the words by Soleil Jolina: “When you realize that routines are actually rituals of devotion to yourself and your dreams they become much easier to follow.”

And that’s exactly it. Because of course the warm covers are more beckoning at 5am when the world outside is cold. Because of course I don’t have to. Because of course I can put it off for tomorrow. But eight weeks into this year, I’m choosing to get past those feelings. When the alarm buzzes and they enter my brain, I give them a couple of minutes of space and then I consciously set them aside and move my body out of bed, reminding myself of what’s waiting on the other side. The dim light and silence of my desk welcome me into their warm, glowy embrace. This is its own reward.

The other area to which I’m applying this newfound discipline is my health and physical fitness. I’ll be 48 this year. Perimenopause has been rough on my body, and I haven’t felt fit in over two years. I’ve found it hard to stick to a regular exercise routine, though I have all the tools to do so (gym in my building, weights at home, plenty of places to walk). But since I’m now getting up early, I’ll typically get my workout in just after my writing time. My routine? Follow-along strength workouts by trainer Mackenzie Wells and some old Beach Body (now called BODi) standbys.

I’d be lying if I said it’s a joy to change into my workout clothes, lace up my sneakers and trudge to my building’s cold, dark weight room. It decidedly isn’t. But I remind myself that I want to be in the best shape of my life by the time I’m 50 in a couple of years. This is a powerful hook for me, and it helps me to get my mind out of the way in service of the thing. No, I don’t enjoy doing deadlifts and reverse lunges, but I’m finding that I can control the resistance that’s usually mental rather than physical. There’s a joy in feeling (and seeing) your progress, and I’m leaning into that. It feels like an act of love towards myself.

The other part of my health and fitness practice is near daily walks of around an hour and a half. I work in an office three days of the week, so on those days that manifests as walking home from work. On the other days, I walk in Rock Creek Park close to my house or to/from whatever place I need to be that day. I’m still in shock that I’m sustaining this practice through the winter, which has never been my season. But I’m learning that a daily walk is a great way to beat the seasonal blues, a vital part of a good wintering practice.

I’m also realizing that walking allows us to remember the ground beneath our feet. To see the progress of time, as a new season unfolds. I thought of this as I wondered at the mildness of early January and the premature smell of mulch. And then again as I spent days and weeks trudging through the snow and ice during more than 20 days of below freezing temperatures. And once more in watching the sun melt the ice as the clouds danced around her and the buds started their gentle journey forward.

Seasons change

I’m not sharing any of this to brag. Everyone has their journey, and this is merely mine of the moment. I also realize that we’re only eight weeks into the year. In her article in Scientific American, Jocelyn Solis-Moreira refutes the myth that it only takes 21 days to form a habit, citing a major study from 2009 that suggested that it can range from 18 to 254 days, depending on the type of habit. I can’t guarantee that mine are going to stick.

But what I can and am doing is acknowledging that I’m proud of myself and this new direction of travel regardless. I also acknowledge that there are sacrifices involved. It requires staying in, keeping my phone away and going to bed early—contrary to my natural rhythms. These are good things, but it also means that some things fall by the wayside. It’s a choice.

It’s also about flexibility. On the weekends, for example, there’s no alarm: I just go through the routine at whatever time I happen to wake up. I’m giving myself grace too: there was an entire week this month that I just couldn’t manage and kept hitting snooze. Writing fell to the wayside on those days, because that’s just the way it goes sometimes. As they say, it’s about progress rather than perfection.

And I’m reminded that when I turned to one of my tarot decks at the beginning of the year and drew a card for overall guidance for the 365 days to come, I flipped over this guy: the Knight of Pentacles. It represents dedication, patience and making consistent progress. It might not be the most exciting card in the deck, but discipline isn’t about excitement. It’s about love: making the space for what you love and showing up for yourself in service of that love. And that is the energy I’m claiming in this Fire Horse year: a quiet fire. Not intensity, not perfection, not grand declarations. Just devotion, doing the thing and moving forward—one early morning, one page, one rep, one walk at a time.