This morning I emptied the dishwasher before making coffee. That sounds like nothing. For me it was everything. There was a voice inside me that said: no, that’s boring, I don’t feel like it. I emptied it anyway.

The whole struggle of my life was right there, in one small ordinary act. The same voice that said no to the dishwasher also said no to the book. I wrote it anyway.

It’s called The Kitchen Buddha. It’s about that voice — not how to silence it, I don’t think that’s possible, but how to hear it clearly enough that it loosens its grip.

The book is done. The fighting isn’t. This page is for anyone who has aimed for three hundred steps and ended up walking eight thousand. Anyone who recognises the voice that says you’ve earned the ice cream and the Netflix.

You don’t need to have read the book. You just need to recognise the enemy. I’ll post pieces here — some from the book, some new. About the voice and the practices that keep it quiet. About the mornings it wins and the mornings it doesn’t. About a father who came home on Sundays with gold. About a son who calls me El Tigre. If any of this sounds familiar, stay.