The Weight of Automatic Days

It’s wild to think about how much I don’t *do*. Like, consciously do, you know? We all move through days, ticking boxes—wake up, brush teeth, make coffee—and most of it isn't a decision so much as an automatic execution. Lately, that realization has been sitting heavy. It started when I was just trying to get back into making beats again after… well, after things slowed down out here.

For months, all I felt like I was doing was repeating motions. The same routine, every day, fueled by a low-grade anxiety and the constant hum of self-doubt. Sitting at the Maschine, triggering loops—a mechanical process with no spark behind it. It wasn’t about the music itself; it was about performing the act of *being* a producer, hoping that somehow, just showing up would conjure something worthwhile. I felt like an actor in my own life, going through the motions of what I thought I *should* be doing rather than actually being it.

The frustration wasn’t necessarily with the lack of results—though those definitely stung—it was this sense of separation. A growing distance between me and my actions. Like watching myself from outside a window, observing someone else go through their day, wondering when I lost control of the steering wheel. That feeling lingered for months. Real heavy.

I remember one evening specifically – late nights are always different – just staring at the screen, trying to force out some sort of emotion or inspiration. Hours passed like minutes. Then it hit me: I was so focused on *trying* to make something good that I’d completely ignored what made something feel authentic in the first place. The act of creating became an obligation, devoid of joy. And all because I had gotten stuck inside a cycle of what I thought “making beats” should look like.

It’s not just music either. It's my morning walks now. Used to be an intentional thing, a way to clear my head and get some fresh air. Now? Most days it’s just…walking. My body knows the route. My feet know where to land. I’m almost there before my brain catches up. Which means when I finally look around, I've missed half of what was right in front of me. That quiet observation isn’t about being lazy or anything - it’s more like a feature than a bug.

Breaking free from those cycles feels less like forceful willpower and more like subtle shifts in context. Like nudging the environment to guide my actions differently. It's recognizing that the trigger—the cue—isn't always what you think it is. Sometimes, all it takes is adding one small element – a different playlist on the walk, for instance - to interrupt the automatic sequence and create space for deliberate action.

That six hundred dollar placement in September wasn’t about being instantly "fixed." It was about something else entirely—it was proof that even when I felt lost, even when those doubts were screaming loud, the direction I wanted to go *was* right. That knowing felt… different from a simple win or validation – it signaled an understanding that consistency, showing up – that's what makes the changes come alive.

It’s still work, day in and day out. It's not about eliminating autopilot; nobody can do that. It’s about increasing awareness of those automatic behaviors—acknowledging them without judgment—and subtly creating space for intention to reassert itself. Maybe it’s as simple as noticing when my feet start walking the familiar route and consciously choosing a different path, just to see what’s there. That small shift – that's where I find myself getting back in the driver’s seat.