As of the time of this posting, we have 59 days remaining until our daily challenge ends.

59 days until I have to reckon not only with whether or not I improved, but also if the growth was enough to tackle a more ambitious project than a blog.

For some of you, you might think that the blog itself is the whole thing already, but it’s actually not. I’m not even sure if I’d continue this after the challenge has ended.

Maybe I can leave it up as a home to the disparate thoughts and ramblings I will pour into it in the meantime, with incremental updates now and then?

If I do finish the daily challenge, this blog will be home to an extraordinary 70 essays—that’s already a book.

I can theoretically publish it as is, or with some editing, and voila, I am officially a published author.

That will be the bulk of my written material for quite some time, unless I follow it up with a big-ass novel after.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Right now, I can’t even get the odd one or two people to read my material.

Blogging is probably the best medium to frame this learning exercise with and to provide it with some structure other than, maybe, journaling.

But the rigors involved haven’t really been healthy for my morale.

Social media is another honey trap. I’ve forgotten how much I resent it.

I chose to take that road, believing that it’s the next best thing short of trying to get my works published in a newspaper or something, or shoving my journal into every person’s face.

I may have severely underestimated its capacity to annoy and tax me mentally, though. There’s a reason I kind of low-key quit social media before this project started.

I am not a talkative person. It is both my pride and my curse.

I believe that I can’t always contribute to conversations meaningfully, and I also believe that a contribution from me is a privilege not everyone deserves.

Actively posting on social media behooves me to both raise myself on the stage when I would rather escape attention in peace, and to lower myself to the judgment of others when, as an introvert, I resent the disability to provide what always feels like missing context.

What I’m trying to say is I don’t always speak; in fact, I rarely do.

When I do speak, however, silence is the last thing I want to be met with.

I’ve talked about performance as an inescapable part of social life before, and while I bravely put on a front when I decided to embrace the mask and sing “Vesti la giubba” unironically, I am finding myself more and more like Pagliacci after that.

Every day, I put on my costume and sing through the tears because the show must go on.

That kinda sounds melodramatic now, but I’d be living in bad faith if I said the emotional toll didn’t get to me.

I know that that’s not what’s important—I’m writing.

The actual act of putting words on a page is a joyful endeavor in and of itself.

I have become the type of person who can sit down and churn out a coherent essay every single day, even when it’s mostly met with silence.

I would be severely downplaying what an achievement that is by not pointing it out myself.

The confidence I have in putting these words up for the world to see, even if they probably wouldn’t, is a growth fostered in me through this performance.

I am doing great in what I actually set out to do, which is to write. Nobody can take that from me.

The little feedback I’ve received has been glowing, even from strangers with no reason to butter me up.

I am miles ahead of more writers than I think. I just haven’t truly found an audience yet.

And that’s okay.

There’s no need to force progress. The numbers going up or down are an illusion irrelevant to my goal right now.

So, what comes next?

I believe it’s time to let social media breathe.

To let the blog breathe.

I am going to stop posting blog updates on social media for now.

To everyone still interested enough to read my work, if you’re out there, you can always find the blog. Everything up will remain up, and all posted links won’t be removed.

To everyone actually subscribed, the newsletters will still arrive.

To everyone else out there, though, this is goodbye. For now.

I’ve drunk the Kool-Aid once again, and boy, is it truly not for me.

Not at this time, and not with stakes this high.

The only thing I can answer silence with is silence in return, no more shouting and no more screaming.

Write like no one will read it, right?