The problem with always starting
When habit takes over
A funny thing happened after I launched my book. I panicked. Not in a loud, spiralling way, but in that quiet, sinking way that creeps in when the momentum (of writing a book) stops and the list runs out. That silence of not quite knowing how to exist without a next step.
The accidental sequel nobody asked for (yet)
As if in anticipation of this silence, somewhere between final edits on Accidentally Wise and my over-analysis of the chapter order, I started writing a book with the title Accidentally Useful.
It was just one of those things that started with a casual paragraph…and paused 70 pages later with me wondering whether I was genuinely inspired or just giddy with false confidence. At the time, it felt like flow. Creative discipline. Something noble and writerly.
But looking back, I wonder—was I still following curiosity, or just avoiding the unsettling silence that would creep in after a long, busy project? Had I become so accustomed to being in motion that starting something new was the only way to feel like myself?
The rush to begin again
There’s a particular high to beginning something. The clean slate. The hum of possibility. And the false belief that this time, it’ll be easier.
Writing Accidentally Wise settled me into a rhythm—wake, work, write a little, move a little, show up for what matters, and try not to overthink things. It was chaotic, yes—but comfortingly so. Like training for a long-distance run that reshapes your days and routine. Everything begins to orbit the finish line.
And then…you cross it.
A brief high. Relief. Pride.
But then the structure disappears, and you are left floating in the after. So what do you do? You sign up for the next race. Or in my case, start the next book—not from inspiration, but from habit pretending it is ambition.
I say this because habit often looks like progress but sometimes it is just fear of standing still.
Letting the next thing breathe
Which brings me back to Accidentally Useful, the almost-book, currently sitting in a politely ignored folder.
Not because it isn’t worth finishing. It might be. But right now, I need space to figure out why I started it. Was it genuine curiosity? Or just a creative tic, a way to avoid that post-project drift?
I am slowly learning that there is a difference between following curiosity and compulsively filling silence. And sometimes the wiser thing—the harder thing—is to let the next idea breathe. To not turn every flicker of interest into a productivity plan.
Maybe curiosity needs stillness, too.
What I am actually curious about these days
(That doesn’t involve a book deal)
Lately, my brain wanders—not because I am “working on something,” but because I am noticing again.
Why do I forget dreams the moment I check my phone?
What happens to our inner monologue when we stop multitasking?
Is it possible to go a week without a to-do list?
These are not project ideas. They are just things I wonder about when I let myself slow down.
None of this is part of a masterplan—and that is the point. Maybe this is what permission to pause looks like.
Permission to pause
And if you have been chasing one thing after another - whether it is deadlines, launches, goals, or personal reinventions - you are not alone.
So maybe it’s worth asking:
Is this momentum, or muscle memory?
Is this curiosity, or habit in disguise?
This week (and maybe the week after or for an entire month), I am giving myself permission to pause. To follow a question without turning it into content.
To be accidentally wise and intentionally idle.
You are welcome to join me.
Also, credit where it is very much due.
Buried under drafts, doubts, and minor life meltdowns,
kept things sane by standing steady through it all. She gave me space to chase this weird, wonderful project, and somehow knew when to gently nudge and when to let me spiral in peace. I would not have finished Accidentally Wise without her. If there is a second book in the works, it is only because her support makes the balancing act feel less like a circus and more like a shared adventure.Have you ever found yourself starting something just to avoid stopping? I’d love to hear what that looked like for you.
PS: Audio generated by NotebookLM