12/16/2024
A few weeks ago, I heard a true story about a man who wrote to his mother every day. Later, he compiled all those daily writings into a book. I can’t recall exactly what he wrote to his mother, whether she wrote back, or if the book was a success. In fact, I don’t even remember where I heard the story. Yet, something about it resonated deeply with me.
The man said that knowing his mother was waiting for his writing motivated him to keep doing it. He knew he had only one reader—but that was enough to keep him to write every single day. With just one dedicated audience, he didn’t need to worry much about what or how he wrote.
This story stays with me because, in a modest way, I see myself in a similar situation. I write every day, and though my audience is larger on social media, my readership still feels small and personal. Like him, I also feel motivated knowing that someone, somewhere, is reading, though my motivation comes mainly from within.
But more to it, I’ve come to realize that the ultimate reward of consistent daily practice—whether writing, painting, exercising, or any activity—often lies not in external impacts but in how it transforms us as individuals, and how unexpectedly this writer builds something truly lasting, both for him and beyond.
A friend of mine once sent me this to encourage me to keep writing: “功不唐捐” (Gōng bù táng juān), "No effort is ever wasted." The saying conveys the idea that every action, no matter how small or directed toward how few, has value.
First is the idea of connection and writing. Writing isn’t all about reaching large crowds; it is about the satisfaction of sharing and maintaining a bond.
Second, writing daily, either for a large or small audience, builds discipline and improves skill. It’s practicing an art form; the process itself is valuable for personal growth and honing one’s craft.
Third, there is always an intrinsic feeling of fulfillment with daily self-improvement, either organizing one's thoughts or communicating one's understanding of the world through writing or drawing.
Fourth, a legacy is not built in a day but with the accumulation of this small daily output. The written words become a record of our thoughts, feelings, and impactful moments, holding value as a legacy for future generations or as a testament to a relationship like the one between this writer and his mother.
Finally, sometimes authenticity can be compromised for a writer who targets for large audiences. This story offers a reminder that writing can still be meaningful, personal, authentic, even when the audience is small.
Ultimately, the true reward of one act each day is not measured by the number of people witnessing it, but by how it impacts us. Whether writing for one or for a thousand, it is the act itself—the discipline, the reflection, practice, and the growth—that makes it meaningful.