I went out walking the other day. As I set out, my destination seemed very far away. I wondered if I would ever get there. I kept walking.
I felt a tweak in my hamstring, and my ankle twinged. I kept walking.
Soon, I got a rhythm going and started to feel some heat build in my body. The twinges disappeared. I kept walking.
Before long I was surprised to discover I was halfway there. I kept walking.
I got too warm and I took off my jacket. I started feeling like I’d been walking a long time, with no sign of my destination in sight. I kept walking.
I got lost in my thoughts and forgot to watch where I was going. Somehow I managed to stay on course anyway. I kept walking.
And then, all of a sudden, I was there.
I finished my book this morning. And it was just like that.
I'll have more to say about it soon, but for now, I am happy, and I am tired, and surprisingly, I'm thinking more about the process -- the walking -- than about finishing. Maybe that's because it doesn't feel real yet. And maybe that's because it isn't truly done. The first draft is finished and I know there is still a lot of work ahead. But the hardest part, the part I wasn't sure I could do, is done. I can't believe I did it.