People imagine writing a book is like producing a very long video. It is not. A video forgives you. The light is beautiful, the music carries the weak moments, and in ten minutes it is over. A book sits with the reader in silence and has nowhere to hide. So I write slowly, in mountain huts and on night buses and at ranch tables after everyone has gone to sleep, trying to put on paper the things the road actually taught me, not the things that merely sound wise.
Some days I write three sentences and keep one. It is the hardest creative work I have ever done, and I suspect that is exactly why it matters. The book is called The Art of Being Alive, and if you want to follow the journey while it is still being written, the book page is where I share where it stands, and the first people to hold it will be the ones on the waitlist there.