A reader commented on one of my Notes after I shared how much I wrote during our 43-day trip through the Panama Canal, up the coast to Vancouver, then home through Seattle.
Specifically,
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He said he struggles to keep up habits while traveling because vacation feels like a time to relax, not maintain discipline.
Honestly, I understood exactly what he meant.
For years, I’ve tried not to “work” on vacation. I’ve tried to stop needing a project. I’ve told myself to just relax and enjoy the trip.
But somewhere along the way, writing stopped feeling like a project I carry around.
It became part of how I experience life.
That doesn’t mean I disappear into a laptop for six hours while everyone else is sightseeing. Most of what I wrote happened in small pockets of time.
Early morning coffee before the ship woke up.
A quick Note while looking out at the ocean in my favorite chair on the balcony.
An hour in the cabin after a morning exploring the locale.
And many, many paragraphs before I went to sleep.
I think that’s the part people misunderstand about consistency. They imagine strict schedules, discipline charts, productivity systems, and rules.
That’s never been my way.
And especially now. At this stage of my life, I don’t want my days organized around pressure. I already lived enough years getting through fully scheduled days and nights worrying about tomorrow.
What I discovered on this trip is something calmer. A comfortable rhythm.
When you genuinely love the thing you’re doing, you stop needing perfect conditions to do it.
You simply bring it with you.
Not because you “should.”
Because it belongs there.
I wasn’t forcing myself to write while traveling.
I wanted to.
And maybe that’s the real shift that happens when something moves from ambition into identity.
You stop asking:
“How do I stay disciplined?”
And start realizing:
“This is just part of my life now.”
You don’t have to choose between the story and the life around it. I’m writing both in real time.
Story Insiders (paid subscribers) don’t just read the chapters. They sit on the veranda after the chapter ends.
The private journals.
The writing process.
The moments that didn’t make the book.
The real-time building of a creative life in your 70s.
That’s where I keep writing after dark.
While reading this I'm imagining myself on they journey with you.... Nothing more beautiful 🌝
I just got back from a trip and I was the opposite problem — I could not stop reaching for my laptop.
Every quiet moment, every hour of downtime, my husband looking over going "what is going on with you?" I kept trying to explain it and finally landed on this: it felt like getting a new toy at Christmas as a kid. That specific joy of not being able to get enough. I wasn't maintaining a habit. I wasn't being disciplined. I just couldn't put it down.
What you wrote about something moving from ambition into identity — I felt that in a very specific, very recent way.