Rinse. Repeat.

Wake up, make toast, make coffee, jump in the car. My most creative time is when I’m commuting; a known side effect of Los Angeles living. Always traveling somewhere. Driving to work I come up with elaborate plans, great concepts, new ideas. Save all this enthusiasm for later.

Arrive at work. Become engrossed in projects. Manage a million emails and reports. Forget everything else.

Drive home. Hope there’s no traffic. Pick the best lane. More ideas. Never as bright and shiny new as in the morning.

Get home. Think about what you want to do. Think about what you have to do. Do the dishes or take out the trash. Make dinner. Watch a movie. Try to span time.

All of a sudden you’re living in an Onion article.

Sometimes I accomplish things. Having deadlines helps, but more often than not there are no deadlines for personal projects. Some nights I come home and crash. I ask myself what is the life I want to live. If only there were more time.

It’s not about time. I’ve had more time. Without distraction, creativity and motivation seem to hover in the lower end of what I’m accustomed too. Everything takes longer. Plus, there’s no commute.

I’m at the age where some friends are getting to the places I want to be and other are giving up. I haven’t given up yet. I’m just getting started. It’s easy to get distracted. It’s easy to focus on the day to day instead of having a plan. It’s easy to think you aren’t good enough or that you haven’t tried hard enough.

Then you go to sleep and wake up and it’s a new day and you do it all over again.