I'm Writing Books. They're Still A Mix

Practice Not Wanting, Desiring, Judging, Doing, Fighting, Knowing. Practice Just Being. Everything Will Fall Into Place.

I'm Married, I Have A Couple Kids, I've Traveled A Lot, I've Done Book Tours A Lot, I'm Happy To Stay Home And Take My Kids To School And Come To The Office.

I Felt Like I Had Lost Something. But Not Something Silly, Like My Keys Or My Gum; More Like My Arm Or My Foot, Something That Really Mattered. Like Something That I Could Live Without, But Would Make Life Much Harder If It Were Missing. And Life Is Hard Enough. Life Is Hard Enough With Everything We're Given.

I Often Think Of Death. True. Suicide Is A Reasonable Option. True. My Sins Are Unpardonable. I Stare At The Question. My Sins Are Unpardonable. I Stare At The Question. My Sins Are Unpardonable. I Leave It Blank.

I Have A Great Amount Of Confidence And Faith In My Abilities To Write. There Are Other Areas Of My Life Where I'm Not As Confident, And Have Not As Much Faith, But When It Comes Down To Writing And Working, I Don't Worry About It. I Trust Myself To Get It Right.