On Day 550 of writing and publishing every day, I sit down after spending most of the night extremely ill. I’m sure some people assume I automate this process by now, but I don’t. I genuinely don’t begin each day’s piece until around 4:00 in the morning, and I’m usually published by 6:05. Today, that simply wasn’t happening. Until this brief reprieve I’m feeling at 7:00 a.m., I couldn’t really think, much less write.
I’ve been eating once a day for about a month as part of my health journey—and I’m down nearly 40 pounds!—but apparently something about last night’s meal had other plans for me. It’s remarkable how quickly feeling physically terrible can strip away the ability to think clearly. As someone who is very rarely sick, perhaps the most useful thought I can pull from the experience this morning is a simple one: Thank you, body, for usually working so damn well. It turns out contemplation, presence, creativity, and all my other daily adventures in consciousness are considerably easier when you aren’t negotiating with your stomach about the continued viability of existence.
With almost anything else, I’d simply take the day off. But this practice has become too important to me to skip. There’s something appropriate about that, I suppose. The practice isn’t really daily if it only includes the days when I’m rested, clearheaded, inspired, and feeling good. Day 550 apparently wanted to make sure I understood the terms of the agreement.
So, on Day 550, you get my official Sick Note. The streak remains alive. The philosopher is questionable. I’ll be back at full speed tomorrow.