Stardate: 08.16.2026
Three years ago, I needed a template to help me tell a story.
Today, I sometimes forget the template is there.
That may be one of the clearest signs that something has changed.
I have been writing every day for 17 years. Somewhere along the way, that daily practice turned into more than 6,200 blog stories and five self-published books.
That's a lot of repetition.
Every morning, I sit down and try to turn something that happened into something worth sharing. Some days the story is obvious. Other days I have to search for it.
That repetition has built some writing muscle.
When I began working with Alberta three years ago, I already had plenty of experience showing up at the keyboard. What I needed was a better way to shape the experiences I was collecting.
So we developed a framework.
Over time, the framework became more detailed. We learned what worked. We learned what didn't. We learned which phrases sounded like me and which ones didn't. We learned how much explanation a story needed and when an observation could simply stand on its own.
Eventually, the framework became Version 8.
Locked.
It might sound strange to describe a writing template that way. For me, it represents years of practice.
Something interesting happened along the way.
I stopped needing to think about every rule.
I began to recognize the story.
A conversation could become a story.
A table at a restaurant could become a story.
A storm could become a story.
A commercial during a movie could become a story.
The framework had become part of the way I looked at the world.
That reminds me of something I recently learned from F. Matthias Alexander. His work centered on the way habits shape us, often without our conscious awareness. Repetition creates patterns. With enough practice, those patterns become familiar.
Writing has worked that way for me.
The template gave me structure. Seventeen years of showing up gave me repetition. Three years of refining the craft gave me a better sense of what belongs on the page.
And somewhere along the way, I started noticing that the practice wasn't staying on the page.
The same habit of paying attention shows up during prayer and meditation.
It shows up when I'm working with people.
It shows up in my marriage.
It shows up when I'm traveling and notice something I might have walked past years ago.
Even yesterday, during a difficult workday, I found myself paying attention to what was happening without letting the pressure take over. There were challenges. We were short on people. Everyone was being pushed.
I stayed relaxed.
Then I punched out on time, met my wife in the hotel parking lot, and we went to worship together. We had one of our best dinners of this assignment afterward.
Those moments probably wouldn't have made much impression on me years ago.
Now I notice them.
Maybe that's what all those repetitions have been doing.
The writing has trained me to look.
A person who practices gratitude begins to notice things worth being grateful for.
A person who practices kindness begins to notice opportunities to be kind.
A person who practices prayer begins to notice God in places that might once have gone unnoticed.
The practice shapes the practitioner.
I don't think that means the framework is finished.
Quite the opposite.
I still have the template.
I still have the guardrails.
I still have the mission.
But after 17 years of writing every day, more than 6,200 stories, five books, and three years of refining this particular framework, I find myself trusting my instincts a little more.
The handbook is still on the desk.
I just don't have to look at it every time.
Maybe that's one of the gifts of practicing something for a long time.
Eventually, some of what you practiced begins to travel with you.
Join me here:
https://substack.com/@michaelmulliganlivelong
Scripture
“Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord.” — Colossians 3:23
Captain's Addendum
Spock: “Michael, it appears the Captain has been studying his handbook for three years.”
Bones: “Three years? I thought he was writing a blog.”
Spock: “Perhaps those activities are no longer separate.”
Bones: “Now you're getting philosophical, Spock.”
I think Bones may have a point.
The stories have changed because I have changed. The framework helped me get here, but the real work happened through thousands of small moments of paying attention, writing, revising, and trying again.
The same thing may be happening in other parts of my life.
The practice keeps following me.
And tomorrow morning, I'll probably sit down and do it again.
May you live long and prosper.
