I haven't published one of these letters in six weeks.

Life filled up with teaching, advising and decompressing (yes, it takes time). I broke my own commitment of publishing every two weeks. And then something interesting happened: the gap itself became the problem and I found it difficult to get back into it.

It wasn't that I ran out of ideas. I had plenty. But in my mind, getting back to writing became this massive task of starting again. And to add to the pressure, I'd set myself a goal for the quarter: "Build a content engine." Sounds impressive, right? (Which is probably why I chose it.) It also sounds like a construction project, something that requires blueprints, foundations, heavy machinery. No wonder I couldn't start. The label made it feel like I was beginning from nothing.

And that story led to another - maybe I'm already late, so what's the point?

Every week became a battle of restarting a stalled engine. Until I looked at my bonsai tree.

I have a Ficus Ginseng bonsai in my bedroom. One early spring day as the winter gloom started subsiding, I noticed that one branch had outgrown all the others, stretching sideways towards the window, searching for sunlight.

The tree looked weird and lopsided, with one long branch sticking out from the rest. But here's the thing: even during the darker winter days, the tree didn't stop growing. Yes, it grew in what I might consider the "wrong" direction. But that "wrong" direction gave it a shape I could never have planned, a shape that only exists because the tree didn't wait for perfect conditions.

Someone recently told me: it's easier to steer a moving ship than a stationary one. A ship moving in the wrong direction is more likely to reach its destination than a ship stuck in the harbour.

For a long time, I was stuck in the harbour - thinking, learning, refining, but not moving. Waiting for the right conditions. Waiting to feel ready (and trust me, that feeling never arrived on its own).

My bonsai didn't wait. It grew towards the light it had, not the light it wished for. It didn't worry about whether it was growing perfectly or whether it was late.

It just lived. Grew. Was.

When I looked honestly at why my newsletter had stalled, I found something unexpected: the problem was the name.

But I wasn't beginning from nothing. I'd already published seven newsletters. I'd been writing every morning for years. I'd been thinking about this work for a decade.

So I had this realisation: I wasn't starting. I was continuing.

The moment I renamed the goal from "build a content engine" to "write the next newsletter," the paralysis dissolved (I wish I could say I planned that). Not because anything changed in the world but because the story I was telling myself about the work changed.

I've been doing the same with my podcast. I haven't published an episode in almost two years (I know). Every time I wanted to get back to it, the voice said: first rebrand it, first migrate everything, first record a batch of episodes. But that voice was treating it as a cold start. It's not. I've been learning, experimenting and having conversations this entire time. The podcast isn't starting - it's continuing.

We do this more than we realise, don't we? We tell ourselves we're starting from scratch when we're already in motion. How many of your stuck projects might actually be continuation problems disguised as starting problems?

Next time you feel stuck trying to "start" something, what if you reframe it from "starting" to "continuing" the motion you're already on? Imagine your ship, not anchored at the harbour but already in motion, regardless of whether the direction is right or wrong.

Here are a few examples from my clients:

"I want to start my own coaching practice" becomes "I want to continue my coaching practice" (She was already coaching her colleagues and team as an employee.)

"I want to start a podcast" becomes "I want to continue building my podcast" (They had already done a lot of exploration of ideas, topics and guests.)

"I want to start using Claude Code in my design work" becomes "I want to continue enhancing my design process with Claude Code".

So this is me, continuing. Not starting - continuing.

This newsletter is back. The podcast is coming back. Not because the conditions are perfect, but because I'm done waiting in the harbour.

If you're sitting on something you want to start, I'd love to hear about it. Hit reply. Let's compare our harbours.

Until next time - keep moving, even if in the wrong direction.

Nirish
Unthinking Space