Consistency is the Hard Part

A thot that came to me while sitting with the tension between who I want to become and how often I abandon the path back to Get there.

This is the third post — a small trend, if you don’t look at the number of days between them.

Consistency is hard.

I wrestle with it constantly.
Not just in writing these words, but in everything that has to do with me.

I can show up for others. I can be dependable. Loyal. Present.
But when it comes to showing up for myself — for the life I want to build, the quiet dreams I carry — it’s a different story.

There’s a voice that always creeps in:
Why are you doing this? No one is going to read it. No one is going to buy your art. No one cares. This won’t make a difference. Nothing matters anyway. Life is absurd. So why try?

And still… I write and I make.

Because somewhere deeper than that voice, something whispers back:
Maybe it does matter. Maybe these words or this art help someone — even if that someone is just me.

And that, I think, is where the meaning lives: not in the reach, but in the return.
Returning to the act.
Returning to the self.
Choosing again and again to show up.
To be consistent — not for metrics, not for praise, not for anyone else —
but for me.

This is me, pushing through that block.
This is me, learning to keep promises to myself.
This is me, choosing to care — even when it feels like no one else does.

Consistency is the hard part.
But it might just be the most important part.

Because consistency is the process.
It is part of the work — the quiet, unglamorous work — of becoming anobdy. Of building the life you say you want, one small act at a time.

What does consistency look like for you?