Traveling today. Heading to HQ for a bit to jam on some things.
Alarm went off at 6:00 AM. A bit earlier than usual.
Travel mornings are weird. You wake up and everything feels like it’s been nudged three degrees off-center. Not broken. Not catastrophic. Just sideways enough that your body notices before your brain does.
Bags packed. (Shoutout to past me for the packing list!).
Itinerary… check.
Notes… check.
Passport… check. Check. (Check, check, check…).
Point. Check. Clear.
Everything is technically fine. And yet… something’s a little bit off.
The morning routine. The rhythm. It’s different. Very different.
No mic today. Just me, hunched over my laptop at the airport, tethered to an outlet, riding on a surprisingly zippy 22Mbps Air Canada WiFi.
On the Uber ride here, I was already scribbling. Fragments. Lines. More ammo for the stack.
“… I’m just some guy who would trade a crown for a baseball cap with a pen attached to it.”
—Ooo, I like that one. The contrast between crown and cap.
“Fear as function.”
—What am I even trying to say? Get outta here with that pretentious nothing.
Normally, I’d pick at these lines for half an hour, capturing my thoughts by talking out loud to my voice transcription app, like I’m hosting a one-man podcast. Turning threads into something tighter, pulling ideas apart and stitching them back together.
But not today. Not this morning. Not in the shuffle of travel.
Travel mornings always feel like this. Disrupted. Unsettled. Your body’s running one routine while the day demands another.
So you adapt. You anchor to what you can. You put in your reps. You keep showing up. You keep trying.
It’s not the same rhythm. But there is a rhythm.
Take a beat. Catch it. Groove to it.
Even if it’s a different tune than you’re used to. Find your step—and keep moving.
Hum along anyway. Even if it’s off-key. It still counts.