The Invitation to Begin Again
How a 100-day journaling practice became the space where clarity emerges and authentic power awakens
Sometimes the most profound discoveries happen when we least expect them.
I recently pulled The Book of Alchemy by Suleika Jaouad from my nightstand, where it had been waiting patiently for months. Five pages in, I encountered these extraordinary words:
"My modus operandi became this: to trust and find ways to delight in the mystery of how things unfold, even if it's not what you had planned, even if it is far from ideal, and to believe that facing the thing you fear brings you exactly what you need. In my journal I wrote: It is possible to alter the course of my becoming."
I had to read it twice. Had Suleika somehow captured the very essence of why Unfolding exists? Her words felt like recognition—the deep kind that happens when someone speaks your truth before you've fully found the language for it yourself.
What I discovered next was even more beautiful: her book is an invitation to embark on a 100-day journaling practice, complete with thoughtfully curated prompts from extraordinary writers.
Here's what might surprise you: despite my love of writing and my transparency on these pages, I had never successfully anchored a journaling practice. Every attempt left me paralyzed by questions that felt too big: Why am I writing? What should I be writing? What's the purpose?
I understood, intellectually, that practice exists without attachment to outcome. But knowing and doing are different territories entirely.
Suleika's approach changed everything. Her 100 writing prompts—brief, profound essays that conclude with clear invitations—gave me permission to begin without knowing where I was going.
So I began.
Each night, I read the day's essay and prompt. I let the words settle in my mind as I sleep, like seeds finding soil in the quiet darkness.
Each morning, I wake thirty minutes earlier than before. I reach for my tea, settle into my chair, and write for no more than ten minutes before the day claims me.
These ten minutes have become sacred. They allow me to quiet the external noise and listen—really listen—to my own voice before the world begins its daily demands.
This simple practice has become an anchor, an opportunity to reconnect with my spirit and heart each day. The pages become a place where clarity emerges, where the space between strategy and soul reveals itself.
An Invitation to Join
I invited my mother to join this practice. She, too, has discovered the joy of these morning pages, this gentle returning to herself.
Now I'm extending that invitation to you.
The 100 Day Project—originally conceived by Michael Beirut—doesn't require journaling. It can be any creative endeavor that calls to you: sketching, photography, painting, even five minutes of daily movement. But here's what I've realized: the specific practice matters less than the space it creates.
What we're really cultivating is stillness. Quiet. The kind of intentional pause that allows us to hear ourselves beneath the noise of our days.
Whether you choose pen and paper, paintbrush and canvas, or simply ten minutes of mindful breathing, the invitation remains the same: create space where your inner voice can emerge. The power lies not in perfection but in the commitment to return to yourself, especially when the world feels loud and demanding.
This journaling practice has rippled into my meditation and yoga routines, reminding me why these rituals matter. In a world that feels increasingly chaotic, that challenges our ability to focus on what truly matters, these practices become not luxury but necessity.
The Space Between Noise and Knowing
In these morning moments, I've found something precious: the space where doing meets being, where achievement meets meaning. It's the very integration I guide my clients toward—the place where external success and internal fulfillment stop competing and start collaborating.
But here's the deeper truth: it's not about journaling. It's about creating the conditions where you can hear yourself think, feel, and know. In a world designed to keep us moving, reacting, and performing, the radical act is simply... stopping. Long enough to remember who we are.
This isn't about adding another item to your to-do list. This is about carving out sacred space—whether through words, movement, breath, or creative expression—where your authentic voice can surface.
Your Invitation Awaits
What would change if you gave yourself ten minutes each morning—not necessarily to write, but simply to be present with yourself? To create the kind of stillness where your inner wisdom can speak louder than the external demands?
Maybe it's journaling. Maybe it's sketching. Maybe it's sitting in meditation or moving your body with intention. The practice itself matters less than the space you're creating—space to hear yourself, to reconnect with what truly matters, to remember the voice that gets lost in the noise of daily life.
What might emerge if you trusted the process of simply... stopping? Of creating a daily ritual that asks nothing of you except to show up for yourself?
Consider this your gentle reminder and your bold invitation: You don't need to know how the story ends to begin writing it.
The page is waiting. Your voice is ready.
