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Recipe: Strawberry Shortcake

Two years of ChezChezRobert

This month marks many milestones for me and celebration is in order. When I use the dashboard on Substack it will ask me if I want to repost an older piece I wrote. I’ve hesitated and absent-mindedly ignored the feature. I vaguely remember starting on Substack in the spring of 2023. When I clicked the feature it brought be right back to the beginning, April 2023.

Two years into publishing on Substack I’ve learned a lot about solitary creativity. My writing has been an ever-evolving exercise in patience followed with the principle, “done is better than good.” In becoming an avid reader, it’s broadened my writing acumen focusing on flow and editing. Eight to twelve books a year might not constitute as “avid,” for now it’s enough for consideration.

I’ve shared personal stories, thoughts on life, meditations on growth but what I’ve gained is a sense of purpose. I feel right at home creating. Fostering a relationship with artistry is healing. In micro-moments I’ve noticed a lessening of anxiety and an assuredness I won’t succumb to depression. The weekly newsletter format is healthy for me. Consistency is a force silencing any blockage.

For those who’ve been with me since the beginning, you’ll remember one of my flaws (creatively) was not allowing a project time to flourish. After planting the seed of this newsletter two years ago, I’m realizing some seeds flower quickly, whereas others grow like trees. My Substack happens to be a tree.

Theres a practice I do daily involving long hand writing. The minutes spent were adding up and I’d become exhausted with my own prose. One day on a call with a friend I received a sign. My friend was having some difficulty with her family and she mentioned utilizing gratitude to start the day. “Just start writing anything and everything you’re grateful for and then wait.” Friends give you nuggets of wisdom that even the most sage members of society don’t possess.

In a matter of days and I mean days, my attitude towards the long hand writing changed. A catharsis swept over me allowing my heart to open when the pen struck the page. Synchronicity has magical ways of working. After a recent meetup with an old friend in the park, they exposed me to another written gratitude exercise, but for the future. “Close your eyes and picture yourself six months from now, what are you grateful for? What does your life look like?” My mind instantaneously went to bodily sensations. Warm hugs, touch, the echoes of laughter. I could sense my future was colliding with the present.

Thank you all for being here. There is a great deal of choice and no limit to where you can put your attention. My motivation has always been to show up for myself and then you. I’ll always write. I don’t think I could ever stop this train of creativity. Welcome aboard, I’m happy you’re here.

1000 days of morning pages

Reaching 1000 days of morning pages might be one of my proudest moments to date. Theres quantifiable proof of my dedication and 1000 days feels monumental. Allowing a blue ballpoint Bic pen to swipe across the page everyday has been my blueprint to cultivating a life of creativity.

The Artists Way by Julia Cameron has been referenced heavily in the current news with testimonies from Doechii and Chappell Roan. I’m curious to know, those who’ve finished the text and committed to creative recovery, what their takeaways are. The genius of The Artists Way is about accepting a divine path for personal joy within the arts. I’ve considered recently what it would be like to restart the program anew.

In the 1000 days since I started, I can remember my first day of morning pages. It took an hour to write the three page requirement. Surely this was not a sustainable practice. After a week the time was cut in half and after a month I could crank out three pages in twenty minutes. Always in the morning, never before bed. On a handful occasions like vacation or overnight stays, I would write in the evening. 99% of the time, the pages are a part of my morning ritual.

I don’t fear skipping them, in fact, I almost don’t know another way to begin the day without doing them. Wake up, pee, meditate, make coffee, do the pages, all in that order. After the rituals my day can commence. The morning pages feel like an extension of sleep and meditation, a kind of lucid state. After 1000 days, the realities are becoming more and more vivid.

Revisiting earlier journals I can see how my penmanship has changed. The tilt of the words, the spacing, the language have all evolved. The potency of each day strengthens and wanes, my growth is symbiotic to the pages. I’ve love writing everyday. It’s a marker and truth-teller of how I know I’m a writer (a titled I’ve struggled with). No one can shake my diligence or my consistency. After 1000 days of having my back, there is no way I’m looking in reverse.