It’s a beautiful sunny morning. A cool breeze blows in and birds call to each other in bright notes. I have been awake for twenty four hours now, and I have been working on this magazine for almost twenty one. Most of the magazine has been written and designed, and most of us are still at work, but not all. About a third of us are passed out around the apartment, and there’s a peaceful calm that comes in with the new day.
It’s quite a contrast to twelve hours ago, when most of the magazine was unwritten, and half of the magazine was left unplanned. That was probably the worst moment, when it all looked undoable, when the word counts seemed low. But those that had done it before seemed unconcerned, so I went along.
Now, frankly, it seems so easy. I am in that weird liminal state, where my body just assumes that if it’s dawn and I’m awake, I must have slept the night before. It won’t last, it never does, but in this moment it seems like really anything is possible. We’ve made something beautiful. We did it by working together, and learning from each other and inspiring each other and challenging each other.
This is what happens when you push yourself to your limits, when you exhaust all of your resources in a quest to do something great, but also to exhaust yourself; it’s easier to remove all the crap from your mind, from your soul, from your self-perception until all that remains is the true self, the essential you, that which remains is that which you will never lose. I feel something zen, transcendent.
But there are still the nagging doubts. By definition, I’m still writing this post, and our designers are still putting the magazine together, if at a subdued rate. I am confident. I am hopeful.
I am fucking tired.