Self-discipline. So much is written about it. It is valuable and desired attitude. But I’ve never felt I could hold onto it for very long. Self-discipline was not something I saw modeled as a child, simply not one of my strong abilities. Whenever I hear advice to writers to exert self-discipline, I tend to get this certain whirling in my brain and go a little haywire-flooey. (Isn’t that a great word? I will have to do a post about it.)
Thinking on this, I looked at the books I’ve written, and many of the things I’ve accomplished–craft making, decorating, even watering my adored hanging ferns most every day at times this summer so as to keep them alive. I realized something heartening. I’ve done all out of love.
I have written out of love of words and writing and books, love of beauty, money, vanity and ego, of wanting to go into a bookstore and see my name on a book. I am up early and stealing this time now before my rambunctious grandson arrives, all because of the love of writing and saying something and being heard.
Love is far more powerful than self-discipline.