I have been on a writing marathon for the past seven weeks — and today, on 30 November 2025, I’m closing this chapter with the 54th post of my series. It has been a ritual: sometimes demanding, often unexpected, but always real fun.
Over the previous 53 posts, I wrote about many things — curiosity, doubts, discoveries, ideas. I experimented with different styles: sometimes essay-like, sometimes personal, sometimes informative, sometimes conversational, and once I even tried a poem. I wandered between memories and questions, theories and observations, hopes and uncertainties, including a few thoughts on AI.
What I wrote:
Moments of wondering — small questions I had about life, culture, and the things I see and feel around me.
Thoughts on learning, on change, on growing.
Pieces of honesty — moments where I tried to share what I truly thought rather than what I “should” think.
A mix of genres — essays, musings, and snapshots of ideas. I pushed myself not to follow a fixed formula but to trust where my pen (or keyboard) led.
Once I shared an old Tagore song my daughter used to sing as a child, and once I tried my hands at a poem.
Some days the words came easily, like they had been waiting for me. On other days, I had to sit quietly and coax them out one by one.
What I learned — and how I changed:
The first lesson for me is that writing consistently taught me how to think more clearly. Even when I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say, the act of writing teased out hidden thoughts — ideas that were living inside me without my awareness.
I learned that motivation does not need external stimuli — I wrote whether or not anyone was reading, reacting, or appreciating the effort.
A big lesson was that you don’t need to write anything negative, hateful, or hurtful to keep going — even though social media often allows exactly that to thrive.
I also learned that discipline beats inspiration. Not every day was inspiring; some days I wrote simply because I promised myself I would. And often those pieces surprised me — with clarity, with emotion, with something I didn’t expect at the start.
And along the way, I connected with many like-minded bloggers — people I would never have met otherwise — you being one of them.
What this marathon means — and what are the take aways:
This series was a commitment: a way to prove to myself that I could keep going. A way to give shape to my inner questions, to trust my own voice, and to build a habit of creation and exploration.
If you read even one post and felt a spark — a thought, a question, a moment of recognition — then this marathon was worth it. And if you’re reading this now and thinking, “Maybe I could try that too,” then take this as a quiet invitation: start. Write something. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It may feel confusing. It may matter only to you. But keep going.
To you, dear reader — known or unknown — thank you for being here. I'm not going away; I’m simply closing this daily ritual. Keep thinking, keep questioning, keep writing your own story.
— End of the daily series, not the writing.
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