THE SUN RISES in the morning like the turning of a page. When we open our eyes and leave the dream state, we become the author of our story. The sun rises and it sets, yet for most of the day we hardly consider its location; maybe that’s why I find the morning so special.

When I woke this morning the world was dark. A faint silver light conveyed by the star of our existence turned the trees and the mountains into black silhouettes.

The sky became a gradient of color, hazy pink and purple, a spectrum of insight, instilling the day with beauty. I stepped outside and the sky was a pale, joyful blue. I could feel the sun’s ascent; it warmed my body, my skin, my face, and gave me life. Nothing is as humbling or as simplifying as living in awe of this world.

The morning — the first sentence of our story.

I’m fourteen days into my November Writing Challenge, a self-imposed task to write a new story every day of the month.

No matter what else happens, I know I have to produce a story today. The pressure to do this is like an engine; I don’t think about whether I should write; rather, I wonder what’s inspiring me or making me think, what I’m struggling with, or what’s caused me to stop in my tracks and smile.

The day is a blank page waiting to be scribbled with the words that I live, for I have no other choice.

There have been several days when I’ve been over it; but when the ink starts flowing or when my fingers start going on the keys, I’m nowhere but in that moment. Writing provides a meaningful way to center myself in the time and space that I’m in, a means to put aside all other thoughts and give my full attention to the task at hand.

I’m nothing but grateful to share words I hope can make the slightest positive impact. Yet, it’s not so much about the finished product or what I’m doing. For me, it’s about why I’m doing this — the nature of the process.

This challenge is making me question my actions and what I’m experiencing, within and without, in the most trivial of circumstances. I’m jotting down notes on my break at work, on a walk, at a coffee shop, in an Uber, at the beach. I’m in a state of continuous exploration, and it’s fun to live in this way.

I attune my senses to the world around me — to the colors, the noises, and the common threads of our reality.

I’m in my mid-twenties and at this stage of life, we’re expected to have embarked on our path, whatever that may be. One of my best friends used to say that I was the jack of all trades, master of none, dabbling here and there but never going all in. And while I do have many interests, writing is something I feel I can commit to because right now, I enjoy it more than anything.

We’re all interested in something, but when that something doesn’t equate to a logical career, or when it makes sense to others, or when it’s something that nobody our family, our town, our community has ever done, it feels as if we must bury that interest. We pour water on the smoldering flame of our hearts because of what the world might think.

Nobody knows what lights you up inside.

Nobody knows what makes you feel like a kid again.

Nobody knows the journey you’re on.

Nobody knows what makes you, you.

Nobody, but you.

I’m curious about the world, and writing sincerely fuels that curiosity. I’m not making a living off of writing at the moment, but this means much more to me than money. Writing makes me savor the sunniest of days, and provides solace in the darkest.

Writing makes me think critically and inspires me to challenge myself. Writing doesn’t just get me through the day, it makes me realize that the day, today, is all we have.

The day is a blank page — let’s create a book worth reading.