I’m a “horse girl.” I’m fortunate enough to be living out the dream of so many people by spending my days working with horses in the great outdoors. Unfortunately, sometimes I hate the outdoors, particularly in the winter, when it’s cold and gray and – like today – lightly spewing snow out of the sky. I hate snow. I do not find it pretty or romantic or anything nice at all.  

But over the years I have conditioned myself to groan once (okay, sometimes multiple times) at the bad weather, roll out of bed, dress appropriately, and be about my business. At this point in the game, I’ve weathered enough of the elements in their ugly form to realize that I should either suck it up or quit. There’s no use throwing myself a pity party every single time the weather isn’t beautiful. That would be ridiculous and a waste of time.  

The other option, quitting, seems just as ridiculous. I know that I love what I do. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to convince myself to get out of bed. Somehow, I keep trucking onward even when the weather is frigid, and anyone who knows me knows that cold weather is my kryptonite. Nothing but love could convince me to subject myself to zero-degree temperatures and negative degree wind chill.  

What is there to learn from this? Motivation is a habit, not a feeling. No matter what your job or your hobby or how wonderful you think writing is, you cannot count on feeling exuberant about the practice every single day. It’s simply not going to happen. There are too many external factors and writing is often too frustrating a task for it to be pure joy every time.  

So, begin to practice motivation. Let it become its own task. The next time you don’t want to write but do actually need to, try this: Say aloud, ‘I have no desire to do this,’ and then force yourself to get up and do it anyway. It’s okay to acknowledge you don’t want to write. You don’t have to lie to yourself or anyone else. In fact, I would contend that it’s more helpful to teach yourself to write without any true desire to do so, as opposed to slapping on a happy smile and trying to convince yourself of a lie.  

One of my running coaches suggested that for the days you don’t want to run, tell yourself to just try it for five minutes and see what happens, giving yourself permission to quit after that if you’re not feeling it. Rarely, she said, will you find yourself quitting. I’ve talked myself through a seventy-three-minute run by telling myself I’d quit after one more minute.  

Emotion is a powerful thing, and sometimes it can be a powerful tool. But don’t count on whimsy and that testy, delicate thing we call inspiration to carry you over the finish line. Begin cultivating motivation like a habit, and let it carry you through the cold days.