It’s been almost six weeks since I lived the hundredth day, and completed my 100 Day Project.
Overall I guess the question that has been tumbling around in my head since has been, did it make me a better person? That was the catch cry in signing up for the project: do ONE thing, ONCE a day for 100 days to make you a better person. In reflection I’ve been thinking about it, about my 100 Day Project, wondering if I have a before and an after; has finding the good and writing it down for 100 days in a row affected me?
I have decided the answer is unequivocally yes.
I took on this project for a number of reasons.
After thinking about how we form habits as adults, I was largely motivated by the thought of developing a daily writing discipline for my lifestyle here in Manchester… which is so different to any lifestyle I’ve had at home in Australia.
I also wanted to test my suspicions that every single day possibly held a bounty of goodness I wasn’t discovering because it was hidden under the cloak of those pesky distractions we all know too well… stress… anxiety… worry… small thinking.
And I wanted to remember a lesson I started to learn a couple of years ago; choosing the viewfinder I see my world through can enhance my entire attitude and consequently my life. Am I sounding Dr Phil? I so don’t mean to sound Dr Phil. But I do mean to say I think the link between choosing the good and experiencing a more fulfilled existence is strong.
To dispel my possible Pollyanna preaching here, I admit that when I look back on the hundred days of my project, I can all too quickly rattle off the dark days. My flat was broken into while I was at home eating dinner in my knickers and reading on my bed, as you think you’re safe to do when you live alone (thirty-nine one hundred). I had a none too pleasant ‘encounter’ with a pants-less gentleman in the garden of my apartment block that put me on a first-name basis with campus security (forty one hundred). For six weeks, I visited a women’s prison where I saw human beings stripped of husk to their rawest selves (they were also diamond days, mind). I was in a train accident, trapped underground in a foreign city (ninety-two one hundred). And I had days when not much at all happened but a nightmare or an old story nevertheless made the world outside of the safe nook under my doona (read ‘duvet’ my dear English poppets) rather unappealing.
The dark is always so easy to access isn’t it? Are our minds like unused muscles when it comes to finding the light first before we recall the dark? Is it just a matter of goodness exercise?
When I look back on this project, while the dark days are quick to leap and vie for my attention, I am overwhelmed by the sheer volume of moments I’ve lived where goodness took root and bloomed amongst the daily rubble for me to discover. Finding the goodness and writing it was a cause and effect sort of affair; the more open I became to acknowledging moments of beauty or positivity or warmth in my day, the more simplified my requirements for goodness became. A smile from a stranger? Euphoria. Writing one true sentence? Glorious. Showing someone effortless kindness and seeing them respond so richly? Almost indescribable. Having a conversation with someone I love? I am the most fortunate woman in the world.
Undertaking this project has woken me up, even though in my before I thought I was already eyes wide open. Dipping in and out of my written goodness to reread my days past is like a goodness drug for my heart, which spills over into every other part of me. For example, nine one hundred when I spent a ruby evening with Angus and Julia Stone. Or thirteen one hundred when I drove to the seaside town where my great-grandparents met over ninety years ago. Then there was the term I spent teaching creative writing in women’s prison that wrung me of emotion every single time, as I recounted after my third teaching day in seventeen one hundred. I finished my first year of my MA on thirty-six one hundred and to celebrate, took myself off to stand in the very room where Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights were penned on forty-nine one hundred. I had a life-changing (no exaggeration) realisation with the direction of my novel through sixty one hundred, and I fell in love with tribal women who vicariously taught me about the beauty of simplicity and the importance of a perfect tortilla on sixty-nine one hundred. Then there was the extreme joy of having a fiery piece of joy from home fly around the world to join me in Manchester for my thirtieth birthday on eighty one hundred and subsequently galavant around Belgium and Holland with me in an absolute fog of goodness. And while I was frolicking in The Great Place on the indigo night of eighty-six one hundred, my first book review was published on Bookmunch.
In the six weeks since I finished my 100 Day Project, I’ve turned my daily writing discipline to my novel, which I attributed as goodness to come out of the project ending. I’ve found myself refocusing on goals and lifting the lid on the size of my daydreams, which I don’t think I would have done had I not gone through the rather hideous train accident experience. I could go on and on… but basically, this project has reminded me that there is always goodness to be found. And, goodness is infectious. My quest to hunt the good in each day has spilled over into other lives around me. And so it goes.
So if you’re inclined, if you’re even remotely tempted to consider undertaking your own 100 Days Project, here’s a whollopping dose of goodness germs to get you started. Pass them on.
Overall I guess the question that has been tumbling around in my head since has been, did it make me a better person? That was the catch cry in signing up for the project: do ONE thing, ONCE a day for 100 days to make you a better person. In reflection I’ve been thinking about it, about my 100 Day Project, wondering if I have a before and an after; has finding the good and writing it down for 100 days in a row affected me?
I have decided the answer is unequivocally yes.
I took on this project for a number of reasons.
After thinking about how we form habits as adults, I was largely motivated by the thought of developing a daily writing discipline for my lifestyle here in Manchester… which is so different to any lifestyle I’ve had at home in Australia.
I also wanted to test my suspicions that every single day possibly held a bounty of goodness I wasn’t discovering because it was hidden under the cloak of those pesky distractions we all know too well… stress… anxiety… worry… small thinking.
And I wanted to remember a lesson I started to learn a couple of years ago; choosing the viewfinder I see my world through can enhance my entire attitude and consequently my life. Am I sounding Dr Phil? I so don’t mean to sound Dr Phil. But I do mean to say I think the link between choosing the good and experiencing a more fulfilled existence is strong.
To dispel my possible Pollyanna preaching here, I admit that when I look back on the hundred days of my project, I can all too quickly rattle off the dark days. My flat was broken into while I was at home eating dinner in my knickers and reading on my bed, as you think you’re safe to do when you live alone (thirty-nine one hundred). I had a none too pleasant ‘encounter’ with a pants-less gentleman in the garden of my apartment block that put me on a first-name basis with campus security (forty one hundred). For six weeks, I visited a women’s prison where I saw human beings stripped of husk to their rawest selves (they were also diamond days, mind). I was in a train accident, trapped underground in a foreign city (ninety-two one hundred). And I had days when not much at all happened but a nightmare or an old story nevertheless made the world outside of the safe nook under my doona (read ‘duvet’ my dear English poppets) rather unappealing.
The dark is always so easy to access isn’t it? Are our minds like unused muscles when it comes to finding the light first before we recall the dark? Is it just a matter of goodness exercise?
When I look back on this project, while the dark days are quick to leap and vie for my attention, I am overwhelmed by the sheer volume of moments I’ve lived where goodness took root and bloomed amongst the daily rubble for me to discover. Finding the goodness and writing it was a cause and effect sort of affair; the more open I became to acknowledging moments of beauty or positivity or warmth in my day, the more simplified my requirements for goodness became. A smile from a stranger? Euphoria. Writing one true sentence? Glorious. Showing someone effortless kindness and seeing them respond so richly? Almost indescribable. Having a conversation with someone I love? I am the most fortunate woman in the world.
Undertaking this project has woken me up, even though in my before I thought I was already eyes wide open. Dipping in and out of my written goodness to reread my days past is like a goodness drug for my heart, which spills over into every other part of me. For example, nine one hundred when I spent a ruby evening with Angus and Julia Stone. Or thirteen one hundred when I drove to the seaside town where my great-grandparents met over ninety years ago. Then there was the term I spent teaching creative writing in women’s prison that wrung me of emotion every single time, as I recounted after my third teaching day in seventeen one hundred. I finished my first year of my MA on thirty-six one hundred and to celebrate, took myself off to stand in the very room where Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights were penned on forty-nine one hundred. I had a life-changing (no exaggeration) realisation with the direction of my novel through sixty one hundred, and I fell in love with tribal women who vicariously taught me about the beauty of simplicity and the importance of a perfect tortilla on sixty-nine one hundred. Then there was the extreme joy of having a fiery piece of joy from home fly around the world to join me in Manchester for my thirtieth birthday on eighty one hundred and subsequently galavant around Belgium and Holland with me in an absolute fog of goodness. And while I was frolicking in The Great Place on the indigo night of eighty-six one hundred, my first book review was published on Bookmunch.
In the six weeks since I finished my 100 Day Project, I’ve turned my daily writing discipline to my novel, which I attributed as goodness to come out of the project ending. I’ve found myself refocusing on goals and lifting the lid on the size of my daydreams, which I don’t think I would have done had I not gone through the rather hideous train accident experience. I could go on and on… but basically, this project has reminded me that there is always goodness to be found. And, goodness is infectious. My quest to hunt the good in each day has spilled over into other lives around me. And so it goes.
So if you’re inclined, if you’re even remotely tempted to consider undertaking your own 100 Days Project, here’s a whollopping dose of goodness germs to get you started. Pass them on.
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