Somebody caught themselves in the middle of it. Worrying about everything they haven't got yet. Everything they're still yet to achieve. And as they thought it, they wrote, more of those thoughts kept coming.
That's the part nobody warns you about. You think you're going through the inventory. You're feeding it. Every item you read produces two more, and none of them were there a minute ago. It grows while you look at it.
They told themselves to stop. That didn't work, they thought about it some more. And then the last line of the post, typed with the dots still stuck in it: This is it. Right now.
The last line gives a location. They stopped arguing with the inventory and said where they were standing.
It's Saturday. You've got one in your head somewhere, and it's been adding to itself all week.
The one thing:
Next time it starts adding to itself, say where you're standing. The room. The chair. The hour.
Nothing else. Just where.
Josh
P.S. I finished my 30-day Ash Journal run on July 30. In public, one page a day, no edits, all thirty.
Five minutes. One prompt. One line of ash. The first seven days are free: truevitalyou.com/journal
P.P.S. Know a guy who'd tell you he's fine? Forward him this one.