Notes from The Alchemy Project
From my 100-day creative practice inspired by The Book of Alchemy by Suleika Jaouad
“To begin, begin.” William Wordsworth
Simple, profound, frustratingly doable, but so hard. Those are the words that kick off the first essay in Creative Alchemy. At the end of the essay, you’ll find the prompt for the day.
If you’re just stumbling upon this, and you’re not sure what I’m banging on about, I’ll fill you in.
On a whim, I decide to start a 100-day project using
’s book, The Book of Alchemy: A Creative Practice for an Inspired Life as the inroad to my writing. I journal daily anyways, but lately, I haven’t been romanticizing it. I’ve been checking the box but barely skimming the surface of my psyche. This felt like a sound foundation to set to commit to myself, my practice, and to begin a torrid love affair with words, again.Once that decision was made, I started to get precious about it, even though Suleika specifically warns against this in the first chapter, “But the lower the stakes—the less precious the process—the more likely you are to return to it.”
What do I mean by getting precious about it? I’m so glad you asked.
On Friday, I shared with my community and strangers on the internet that I’m embarking on this 100-day project with the intent to begin on Monday (today!), and I invited them along.
Then, I read the first chapter, the first essay, and first prompt. I had to remind myself that Friday isn’t Monday, and I talked myself into closing the book. I said out loud, “I won’t reopen this book until I begin the project.”
Saturday went by in a blur, and I didn’t obsess about what’s coming until Sunday rolled around.
Here’s a glimpse into my mind:
Do I start a journal just for this project? Do I use my regular journal since it’s the foundation of my journaling practice? Do I share the meandering thoughts that I put on the page or spare the world of my version of processing out loud? Do I share about the experience rather than the journaling content? What about a new journal? Okay, I’ll reread the introduction and chapter one so I’ll be ready for tomorrow. Another peek at the first spark and prompt will just help me hit the ground running tomorrow.
Today, I woke up later than I planned, and I didn’t write first thing like I usually do.
Cue the looping thoughts: Does this mean I should start tomorrow? Should I use a new journal for this? What am I going to share?
Insufferable, I know.
I finally sat down, reread the first essay and got to the prompt: What would you write if you weren’t afraid?
“To begin, begin.” And so I did.
Surprisingly, an answer sprung to mind immediately, but just as fast, I could feel that it was a surface level idea, and I needed to go deeper. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I wrote for 30 minutes. I allowed the pen to take me anywhere and everywhere I needed to go.
What I want to share is this:
Maybe bad things can happen, I can have negative thoughts about myself, and I can still be open to a good tomorrow.
What if every day unfolded as an independent event? The choices of today aren’t dictated by yesterday. What could happen? Who could I become?
What if I lived every day like it was my first? Endless curiosity, no baggage from yesterday weighing down today. What would I create? Who would I become?
As I reflect on this first day, I’m remembering that we rarely know the answers or the outcomes. To figure them out, we have to begin. Whether we apply that to writing or living life, the truth of it remains.
If you stumbled upon this, let this be your sign to begin whatever it is you’re curious about, dreaming about, longing to call into your life.
“To begin, begin.” —William Wordsworth