Blog: Copious Content Creation

Hiya!

Over the past week I’ve had a ripple of commonality come through multiple times between multiple conversations with several different friends of mine, the issue of content creation. All parties involved, in each individual dialogue, are singer-songwriters, none of whom are signed or have any sort of team behind us pumping out content on our behalf. The complaint that we each had was just how long it takes to make scrollable content & how taxing it can be to constantly be in that mode of creation that has to be, by nature, a tad frivolous.

If you're not someone whose job depends on how many eyes are on you at a given time this whole blog may come as a surprise to you, but content, in any form takes a long time to put together. I’m going to show you a few examples along the way to help illustrate this point but just know, that’s what you’re in for on this blog.

I’m going to start with a few examples of my own. Let’s talk about blogs. These ones, these one off, ten to fifteen paragraph numbers that I do almost every week take me on average an hour & a half to two hours. If that seems like an odd number to you then let me break it down. If I’m being honest, the days leading up to Friday are spent brainstorming, coming up with ideas for what this week’s topic should be & typically going with the one that feels the most natural or that I feel the most passionate about. We aren’t counting that time in our final number here simply because my ADHD’d brain allows me to do that while I’m doing other things. It’s not dedicated time, but it is still taking up mental space. Then I set aside time to sit down & do what I’m doing right….now! right…..NOW! which is typing out the blog. If there are specific points that I want to hit along the way I’ll type them down below in the order I want to present them in so that I know which way to steer this whole stream of consciousness train, otherwise I derail. Oh look, Squirrel!

Next, after my ten to fifteen plus paragraphs are done, which usually takes over an hour, I go in & edit. After I’m satisfied with my post, or at least deem it passable, it gets uploaded to square space with tags & categories, & all that good stuff. Then I’m still not done. I have to share this mother so that you all will see it. I post it to Facebook, swapping back & forth between my personal & artist page, I make an Instagram story post, & I post it to Twitter (& now I guess Threads too). All of that amounts to the total time of an hour & a half to two-ish minimum. That’s a completely different story for travel blogs.

Travel blogs take me days. I honestly don’t know if I can calculate just how much time goes into them but I have written about this in the past as well. For a travel blog I first have to travel which, yes is fun, but the way I do it, to be able to share an experience that others will want to immolate, I do a lot of research first. I find restaurants, activities, cool locations & dives, & put together a loose itinerary for my trip, broken down (again, loosely) by day. There are certain elements that are higher priority than others on said itinerary that get shifted around as needed.

While on the trip I have to be sure I’m making content; taking videos, taking pictures, writing down where I went, what I ate, etc. I keep a running tab over my whole stay that I refer to throughout my time writing these once I’ve returned. If I’m diving I have to go through & edit the video I took, as well as take screen shots from said videos so that there’s underwater photo content to attach here. That’s usually a several hour endeavor. Then I have to repeat the above blog process all while linking the places mentioned within said blog. Then after the written portion is complete I go in with the photos, upload them, & position them so that they look all nice & pretty. Truly travel blogs take me daaaaaaays to do & that’s even after I split them up into two to three day parts.

Then there’s music. The average songwriting session lasts around three to four hours & often you don’t get to finish the song in its entirety. After that you have to go in & do rewrites for lyrics or melodies that don’t quite work. As far as production goes, there’s tens more hours thrown in. Tracking all takes place in real time but you need to do multiple takes & then also go in & edit said takes. Equalizing, adding effects, mixing, mastering, etc, etc, I would guesstimate that most songs have a minimum of twenty hours thrown into them even before you start promoting, doing photoshoots for promotional content, reaching out to different publications, playlists, etc.

Going back to what each of us were specifically talking about with content creation is video. The first conversation I had was with Leena Regan who put together little highlight videos from the writing camp that Songbird Society put together. Each thirty second video took her around five hours to complete. You have to go in, edit the clips, color correct the clips, pick a song to have them synced to, sync the cuts in the video to the beats of the song, write a personal, catchy caption, share it everywhere you can.

Kate Cosentino was talking about the same thing, about how exhausting it is to make content for scrollable sites like TikTok or Instagram that you pour hours into just to have it be seen by a handful of people. Throwing your efforts into the void, hoping to catch someone’s attention enough to engage with them, failing & having to do it all over again.

For my Tarpons video I had to find a karaoke track of Feed The Birds from Mary Poppins to sing over, rewrite the lyrics to be about tarpons, record & edit vocals, then sync my dive footage up to the beat changes of the song. Probably a good four to five hours of work & the video went nowhere.

All of this is not meant as a poor poor me type of thing. I write all of this to make you all aware, to show you what it looks like to be a modern artist trying to promote yourself in hopes that one day you’ll have a team behind you who pays someone else to put hours of their time into these posts instead of cutting into your already limited time. I also write all of this so that maybe you’ll be a little more loving to the content people put out, especially your friends! These videos that make you laugh or smile or cry take time & work. These songs that you put onto your shuffle & never listen to with intention again take time & love & effort & are snippets of people’s lives! These blogs, especially the travel ones, take a lot & we do it because it’s what we love, but when you’re constantly throwing yourself out there into the oblivion & finding yourself fallen short each time it gets incredibly disheartening. That’s what causes creators to stop, that’s what causes musicians & artists to sell their gear, causes creatives to get a desk job, because they have tested their metal against the void & the void has swallowed them up.

If you’re here, reading this blog I’m so grateful for you. If you listen to my music, share my posts, anything that supports me in even the tiniest bit as a creator & an artist, I thank you. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you. You never know how far a simple comment, a like, a repost, a whatever else that takes five seconds to do means to someone in our field. Please be appreciative of the content creators in your life, without them this life would be so damn boring.

Much love as always,

-C

Blog: Writing The Hit

I can’t tell you the amount of times that I’ve walked into a session & had another artist or a writer say “are we going to write a hit today?” to which the proper response is always “of course” or “I sure hope so,” because let’s face it, nobody wants the negative energy of a “statistically, probably not.” Lately I’ve been convening with a lot of different writers, most of the time over drinks or a meal, & this topic of “I just need to write a hit” has come up time & time again. If you’re someone reading this who isn’t in the music world, I don’t want you to tune out, because in actuality, the broadness of the topic at hand may surprise you!

When the notion of ‘writing the hit’ is presented to me it automatically stirs up feelings of commercialism, of pandering, of conformity, & that’s not to say that there aren’t things you should strive for in your art or expression, to an extent. I think that if any of these feelings detract from your art or minimize your personal experience they are a hindrance, not a leg up, & should be avoided at all costs. If, on the other hand, these sentiments match who you are & what you bring to the table, fire away, the goal here should be, after all, authenticity.

There naturally has to be some for of commercial viability for something to be successful, but I often think that the idea of what is successful based on what has been successful pigeon holes us into a narrowed scope of thinking. Instead of allowing the imagination & the self expression to run wild, we end up worrying more about whether or not what we’ve created or plan to create will fit into the already etched out niche of what has been successful in the past. I would argue that playing into the hand of the road well trodden may lead to limited success but it also stumbles readily into the realm of the forgotten.

People who are trail blazers, in any industry, are seldom, if ever, those who followed the status quo. They are those who followed their gut & pushed the boundaries of what was deemed commercially viable. Let’s use an example from a few years ago. When Billie Eilish exploded onto the scene & immediately became popular, every label & their mother scrambled to find the next her, instead of continuing the search for something just as unique. They all sought to capitalize on that which was already raking in the capital. This happens not only in the music industry but in literally every other industry I can think of where something is successful & everyone else hops on board to try to ride the wave that sensation has created.

A lot of those who I was talking about this concept of ‘writing the hit’ with this week are also artists & are looking for that one song that will break them, something I’ve heard for years & years & years in this industry but I find in doing so, in chasing the monetary or status based success, we diminish what makes us unique & interesting as artists & individuals in favor of a brief minute on the well worn path instead of carving our own niche & finding those out there in the world who relate to us as we are, not how we think they should.

People are pretty good at sniffing out a phony, call it the uncanny valley of expression, & their ride in the limelight is often short lived because usually the person who blazed the trail they dipped into is already making the trek better than anyone else could. Why? Because it’s authentically who they are. If you are an artist, an inventor, a painter, a poet, a writer, a speaker, a ceo, a whatever, you have a unique outlook on the world & life that literally no one else shares because no one else looks through your eyes & has the lived experience that you do. No one else has the same genetic make up, the same voice (literal & figurative), the same neurological mapping, the same beats of their heart, the same chemical values, the same stacks of cells that you do, so stop trying to fit into the mold of someone who will never be you & someone you will never be. It’s a lot more interesting to create something novel & authentic than it is to be just another wanna be copy cat.

I hope you all have a great week or weekend whenever this blog happens to find you!

As always, much love to you all!

-C

Object Writing: Polaroid

We’re born into this world like a freshly snapped Polaroid; the image of who we are & what we contain takes time to develop. Sometimes, as this is happening, whether out of love or selfishness, people will try to point out our details to us, to guess or shape the image even as its still sits lost to obscurity. We, ourselves, often end up covering certain parts of the image as we violently shake to clear up the picture into what we hope it will be. We grip more & more tightly, pressing our fingers into the swirling black, preventing pivotal parts of our picture from developing properly. But lessons take time, nobody perfects life over night, especially if those lessons contain the parts of our beautifully composed photo that we’ve spent the longest amounts of time with our thumb pressed over.

Object Writing: Cinnamon

The ancients said it contained good fortune, that it would whisk your dreams & abundance from their hidey holes & send them careening towards you, a cosmic hack to elevate your vibrations & magnetize your highest good. I can understand why, just the touch of its soft warm caress against my olfactory centers fills me with bubbling comfort & an unbridled sense of security. Each tightly wound spiral of toasty brown bark can't help but curve a smile onto your face. Each homey flush spreads the promise of sanctuary across the tongue. Believe in it what you will but there's no denying the reassuring hospitality cinnamon seeps into our daily lives.

Object Writing: Shaker

Into the sparkling stainless steel cylinder go the ingredients to my elixir. Juices, spirits, bitters, syrups, & liquors are all viable option, each diverting the path towards a different finished outcome with every ounce I pour into the potion brewing below. The fiery sting of alcohol ignites my nostrils as I topple in the base spirit, finishing off my pre-shake list of ingredients. I top the unmixed shaker off with ice pilfered from my freezer before caping it & violently shaking its contents to & fro. The tumbler grows colder & colder in my hands with each pass the drink makes in its vessel; the ice within being reduced to chips, the mixture no longer a series of separate items, now a combined refreshment to be enjoyed. I strain my libation out from its metal origin into a new, crystaline home, adding the simplest of garnishes before settling into the couch with my eloquently constructed nightcap.

Object Writing: Fireflies

The mid-summer haze plants the seed of their terrestrial bound, celestial display. Lofted delicately into the air by humidity & paper thin wings they begin their musing spectacle of courtship. They paint ever shifting, continuously rearranging constellations upon the evening air, flashing their messages of availability & attraction, pining for those hidden in the vivacious green below. These fireflies are the first signal of summer; the first indicator that Ostara has ended her great, bounding resurrection & has passed her revitalized bounty off to Sol, lengthen the days & bleeding warmth into night. I’ve always been overjoyed by the presence of these, their comfort hangs in the air along side the heat of the day, enrobing me in a truly childlike sense of imagination & wanderlust. It’s my greatest pleasure to know them & an indescribable gift to witness their light.

Object Writing: Wick

It flickers delicately in the softly shifting air of my abode. As its warmth turns wax to liquid & then to vapor it expels scents of Spearmint, Texas Cedar, Rose, Palo Santo, Rosemary, Grapefruit, & Eucalyptus into the space around it. The aromatic mixture invigorates the senses of all who pass into the space, igniting a deep calm that puts the brain at ease & unwinds the tension of muscular stress. This candle is of my own design, a combination of all that which puts me in a place of hospitable comfort. It is a natural favorite that I savor endlessly despite having the means for its recreation at any given moment. The melted wax & its aroma put me at peace & give me a sense of home that I feel has escaped me for so long.

Object Writing: Bedsheets

Through the soft silver glow of the crescent moon I watch your breath rise & fall. Like waves rolling gracefully under a midnight sky I am transfixed by the steady expansion & regression of your chest. Shadows dance lovingly across the muted gray linens that adorn you, their proprietors gently wafting in the midsummer breeze holding vigilant watch of the darkness from the other side of the window. It appears this will be yet another night where Morpheus has chosen to ignore my prayers for rest, but tonight I do not mind, for in his absence he has gifted me a view few on this earth have been fortunate enough to hold. I cradle the pillow tenderly between my forearm & crown & fix my eyes amorously upon you. Your hair falls indiscriminate upon your brow as you slip further into the realm of dreams with each passing aspiration.

Object Writing: Terminal

Concrete & rebar encase the hive, a buzzing center of travel & commerce where lives mingle with one another unbeknownst. Gripped by the sonder of individuality I watch each of them pass; some beginning their journeys, some in the middle, & some have reached their final destination. Each passing patron parades through the terminal, possessions in hand, scurrying too & fro like mice seeking shelter from a danger looming overhead. What must each of their fully fleshed out lives be like? Who are these people when the stress of hurry up & wait isn’t baring down on them? I watch them leaned lazily against the window; the outside air cooling the glass where it makes contact with my skin. My fingers trace circles in the scratchy, short carpet as I slip in & out of daydreams, little self inflicted distractions to pass the time as I await the winged carriage that will catapult me across the sea into my next adventure.

Blog/Object Writing: Grief

If you noticed I did not post an outright “Object Writing” post on here on Wednesday, that is because I did a five day series on grief. I was given the grief prompt by a dancer our of University in Canada who asked if I would do an object writing page for her final dance project using the five stages of grief. Naturally I agreed & was delighted, this is that assignment! In my initial writing I did my best to make the stages flow naturally into one another, over the last week I had to figure out ways to segment them out into five one minute posts, they are all attached below. So, what I’m going to do is first post the written form then if you feel so inclined, or if you’d rather, you can go through the individual posts & watch/listen to what I did with them. I can’t wait to share the final dance product as well once it’s presented! Enjoy!

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OBJECT WRITING: GRIEF

“This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening.” The shock of the news nearly knocks me off my feet as the message the tsunami of information carried echoes endlessly around my brain. I feel faint, detached from the human vessel that tethers my spirit to this earth, adrift in the noise & chaos. My myriad of emotions cause me to question what is real or even possible. Is this? Is it all just a dream, some sick illusion my subconscious has cooked up for some unknown reason or have the unfathomable nightmares of my deepest, darkest dread become reality? At the end of my Rolodex of “no’s” hangs the fixture to which I attach blame. “IF” I am to believe this malicious marquee of misinformation then someone is at fault. Someone or something is the culprit for this misfortune; effect is nothing without cause. My adrenals pump molten rage into my bloodstream, igniting my senses into fiery passion. I am fuming, eyes frantically searching for elucidation & something to pin the focus of my frustration. Then it hits me. It smacks me in the face with the fury of the scorn I’ve irradiated into my atmosphere. What if it’s me? What if it’s my fault? My mind begins to work overtime, clockwork machines come alive & the pressure & steam give way to desperation. I return a call, for the first time since being encumbered by the burden of knowing I reach out to another human being whom I share commonality with. I am insistent, disheartened, “if only I’d done this,” I cry, “if only I’d done that” but my cries are fruitless. What’s done is done. Life has no redo button, it offers no relapse into the undoing of retribution. Maybe an exchange then, something for that which I’ve lost. Maybe the almighty, the cosmos, the powers that be will shine one glint of mercy upon me & offer me a fair trade. Time, money, possessions, health, all are on the line, all viable options for the return. But the universe sits silent, unbothered by the heart-wrenched pleading of a drop in the river, in the grand stream of time. All is silent. The stillness creeps into my being & settles uncomfortably into my bones. The meaning & spirit drains from me like sap oozing softly from a tree into the ground below me. Gravity’s weight is multiplied ten fold & soon the creature comforts that bring me respite begin to do little the fill the void. I am hollow, an empty shell of icy numb hurt as the colors melt inchmeal around me into sickly, sullen shades of grays. It’s pointless, all of it. Pointless. My energy depleted, my hopes scattered, my berth begins to feel more & more like a tomb; a black void of nothingness to which I shall willingly succumb. Little by little I fall further into the pits of my forlorn until, at last, I reach the soft maw of the abyss. Cradled in self pity & affliction I lie there, transfixed by misery until a delicate ember drifts haphazardly into my core. It too rests with me in this eternity, offering a knowing melancholy smile before wrapping me in warmth. The freedom of empathy washed through me & enrobes me in loving light. It does not discount my loss or patronize but instead sits in amiable eloquence carrying me through my despair. It lifts my chin, places a quant reassurance on my forehead, & nudges me affectionately towards tomorrow. “It is time,” it whispers to me. Like a freshly birthed foal I stagger to find my footing; one & then the other. I look up to the mountain that stands proudly aloft before me & I begin the ascent; one foot at a time, one day & then the next. The sun breaks through the morbid gray & for the first time in what feels like an age I am at peace.

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OBJECT WRITING: GRIEF PART ONE: DENIAL

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OBJECT WRITING: GRIEF PART TWO: ANGER

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OBJECT WRITING: GRIEF PART THREE: BARGAINING

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OBJECT WRITING: GRIEF PART FOUR: DEPRESSION

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OBJECT WRITING: GRIEF PART FIVE: ACCEPTANCE

Object Writing: Mosquito

Its tiny taps on the window were what woke me. Small pinpoints ringing out from a minuscule life intent on escaping back to the warm promise of the sun just outside of the grime dusted glass in its way. I watch it from the sticky sheets of my summer bed; how freeing it must be to be a creature so oblivious to the drastic difference a handful of degrees swaying one way or another can make in a room. I lay there, sprawled out on just the mattress cover, sweat soaking through the cloth, as the mosquito moves to circle the room. The late afternoon sun casts long arching marigold blocks of light across the floor, interrupted by a long narrow shadow any time the bug ventures into frame. Another hot day, another hot summer. Even at the distance it flies from me I can still hear the piercing buzz of its wings. I was convinced it wanted to make a meal of me though thus far it has shown little to no interest in doing so. Maybe it’s the heat, maybe it’s the ting of musk in the air or the thick soup of humidity, but the insect pays me no mind, so I return the favor. So here I am, spread out over my bed like jam on bread, watching this mosquito search in vain for whatever entrance allowed it access to my abode. I watch & watch & watch until my eyelids began to grow heavy once again & I embrace sleep as my blanket of the oblivious, my single relief from this sweltering heat.

Object Writing: Envelope

No return address, curious. I run my finger over the pointed top of the envelope, my name inked diligently below on the broad side in an enchanting cursive. The wax seal on the inverse panel glistens in the light as I turn the folded parchment over & over in my hands. Occasionally my fingertips caress the soft compress leaving behind a sensation of comfort & familiarity. Upon turning my attention back to the pressed fastening it stands out to me that the indentation of the seal is foreign to me, an unknown entity or house that I have yet to come across or that has possibly slipped my mind. I reach for my letter opener, the blunted blade is cold in my hands sending pin pricked goosebumps down my wrist. I press the tip of the instrument firmly under the binding, then hesitate to take in the insignia of my mysterious sender once more. One fell swoop & the letter is free, springing from its paper imprisonment & cascading folded sheets onto the floor. Casting the newly vacated envelope aside I reach anxiously for the message, wary of what news it may bring.

Object Writing: Easel

It stares tentatively at me every time I enter the spare room at the end of the upstairs hall, longing for the attention it had amorously received in its former life. What once belonged to my inspired grandmother now stands forgotten, collecting dust out of sight & out of mind. A half finished painting rests lazily against its frame, the acrylic paint of which still encrusts the shelf that hoists it aloft. It's been a while since this easel has been loved, properly loved that is. It was once the advocate for beautiful expressions of art; oil slicked splotches of plumage, delicately washed lofty cliffs overlooking the sea set under the watchful eye of a salt white lighthouse, true enchantment put to pigment. Now it yearns for such activity, its use long dismissed by the passing fancies of a neuro-divergent brain. Poor, lonely easel, you are so deserving of the flourish of life you once received in the past. I guess it may be time to once again crack out the paints & feel the tug of creativity.

Object Writing: Pavement

Glossy pools of silvery water sit anchored in their valleys, each receiving new tsunamis with every fresh drop of sky that plunges into their shallow depths. Reflective images of trees & clouds ripple away into the aqueous black with each cascading wave. Mountains of inky pebbles extend from the water reaching fruitlessly towards the heavens bridled by their mass & rigidity. It's a small world this splash of life giving sustenance I've stumbled upon, yet another drizzly day blossoming their abundance into existence, their multitudes extending as far as my eyes can see. They tumble recklessly into one another, spilling their burden into their companion just down stream from them until the bounds of each of their shores is compromised & runs its contents lazily into its next of kin. The pavement glistens in the gray gloom of this rainy afternoon. I splash vivacious yellow across the face of each ocean as I pass hearing the soft pitter-patter of the midday precipitation dash against the hood of my polyester rain coat.

Object Writing: Teddy Bear:

One of its small, knowing eyes hangs lazily, detached just a few inches below its intended placement, held flimsily together by two fine, red strings. The soft tawny fur fades in & out where adolescent hands & arms have left permanent scuffs of love. This teddy had seen better days, that was for sure, but for all the adoration & world it had seen behind its shiny plastic eyes, it was content. You see this bear, this stuffed personified companion had once belonged to a child. It had been a gift joyously received which had then proceeded to fill the life of its young owner to the brim with comfort & amity. This small worn shaping of cotton & polyester had been everywhere its adolescent keeper had gone; it had been a soft, supple shoulder to cry on, it had been thrown to the sky in bouquets of laugher, it had been fastened into trucks, carriages, cars, beds, any assortment of garments, & cavorted tirelessly with. It had been many days since the likes of this had seen the likes of those but the bear still sat satisfied; the dust & years slipping through the gaps in its fibers, making their own home in a former part of someone else's. The furry friend did not despair or long for days long past, it had fulfilled its purpose & was overjoyed with the time it had been given. For the love of a toy wants not, but gives exponentially.

Object Writing: Track

"One more lap" I tell myself, "just one more lap." My feet ache with each exhausting stride they beat into the asphalt, long tired out from the previous innumerable laps. My legs scream at me to stop, beg me for rest, but it is my will that over powers them.It's been far too long since I ran, far too long since I put rubber sole to track & rocketed my way around. My compromised hip sends signals of distress ringing throughout my person but I do my best to ignore its warnings, for it is the reason for my current struggle. If I hadn't of fallen, if I'd paid more attention maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't be in my current predicament, stuck trying to prove to myself & those around me that I can come back stronger that the sum of my falterings. Just. One. More. Lap. The battle between brain & brawn rages within me & thus far the war has leaned heavily in my brain's favor, but I can feel the shifting tides, I can feel the odds evening out & I know once they do there will be no coming back from it. In the meantime I just have to keep pushing on. Come on, just one more lap.

Object Writing: Biscuits

The crumbs lie lazily scattered around the base of the package; let’s call them little remnants of a midnight snack consumed half awake. Their trail extending from the ripped opening of which now only a trivial few fractions of the original tantalizing contents remain. It was clear from the moment I'd opened them, during my initial purchase, that this package had previously been dropped; the silvery wrapping had given way to the crumbled bits of cookie within still loosely holding tight to their uniform means of presentation. The hours of night that crept into morning had made way for the soft vanilla & caramel accents of the biscuits to waft delicately into the air & pique the olfactory of any happenstance passerbyer. They weren't my favorite, though, I guess, the haste at which I had ushered them into my shopping basket the day prior would have said otherwise; I guess I'd just had a hankering for something saccharine & carbohydrate laden. I finished the remainder of the container with passive indifference before discarding the scrapes & the undesirable bits into the trash. Great way to break fast, I thought to myself as my gnashing turned sugary tack into mush. Great. Way. To. Break. Fast.

Blog: Being Productive In The Midst of A Global Pandemic

Hi Friends!

How are we today?

On a scale of one to ten, ten being the most, how productive would you say you were today? Is that a number you’re happy with? Is that a number that feels like it has been pretty constant over the course of the last couple months? I’ve been doing a bit of outreach all week; to friends, to colleagues, etc. to see kind of how people have been handling self improvement during the COVID-19 pandemic & what I’ve if an overabundance of proof that most of us are struggling. I get it, I really do. There’s no where to go, nothing to do, no way to travel, or in my line of work, play shows. It’s hard to be a frowardly mobile person when the world feels like it has stopped dead in its tracks, at least in the states…

So what’s to be done? How do we break the monotony? By adding more.

Hear me out. Productivity is a habit, Newton’s first law of motion explains:

“An object at rest stays at rest & an object in motions stays in motion...”

— Sir Isaac Newton

This is you. You are the object in this scenario. If you’ve developed a habit of stagnation, you must replace it with one of mobility. How do you have mobility when you can’t go anywhere? Establish routines. Now is the perfect time to be establishing a routine, a diet, a workout regimen, etc, because you have the time & mental space to do so. Here’s what I recommend, even if you can’t be productive in your chosen career field, that doesn’t mean you can’t still establish habits that can be applied post-COVID.

Here’s where we start; your alarm clock. First off, if you’re not setting an alarm, it’s time to start. I’m aware a lot of us, 22.4% of us, are out of work right now, but your routines are still important. Set your alarm for 30 minutes earlier than normal, then here’s how I want you to break down that 30.

Minutes 1-4: Drink a large glass of water, take your allergy meds, drink your coffee.

Minutes 5-10: Stretch, specifically doing cat/cows (look it up.) Cat/cows open up your spinal column & get your spinal fluid moving.

Minutes 11-14: Do 25 reps of an exercise. Could be push-ups, sit-ups, squats, lunges, pull-ups, etc vary this daily but get the blood moving.

Minutes 15-24: Meditate. Doesn’t have to be some spiritualist experience, just center your thoughts, center your mind & body & breathe for 10 minutes.

Minutes 25-30 Journal: Write out how you’re feeling, write out what you need to do that day, write out how something resolved, get out all the mental clutter & lay it out before you so you can start your day with a clear mind. 1 whole page of journaling, write til it’s full. No cheating, no short hand.

And there you are, that’s your new morning routine. Do it daily, you’ll be amazed how driven & clear the day ahead feels after this. Best of all, it puts your body in motion, gets you moving right off the bat so you can carry that energy throughout your day.

From here you branch out; add a strict diet regimen, add working out in, add daily tasks you can do that will advance your career. You’ll be amazed how clearly new ideas present themselves to you once you put the body in motion. It can’t just be your physical body you’re putting in motion, it has to be all aspects. Digestion, cardio vascular, muscular, mental, spiritual, all of it must be prepared for the day ahead for you to be successful.

I truly hope this helps you, it’s been helping me a lot! You have to stick to it though & be disciplined, it takes 42 days to form a habit so make yours about forward momentum.