0175: Chatting about my writing processes this week.

Location: New York, New YorkSponsor: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Notes Running⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Buy Me A Coffee:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ buymeacoffee.com/joshlynott⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Retreat link: Join here

Location: New York, New YorkSponsor: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Notes Running⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Buy Me A Coffee:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ buymeacoffee.com/joshlynott⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠

Location: New York, New YorkSponsor: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Notes Running⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Buy Me A Coffee:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ buymeacoffee.com/joshlynott⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠

Location: Melbourne, AustraliaSponsor: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Notes Running⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Buy Me A Coffee:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ buymeacoffee.com/joshlynott⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠

Location: Melbourne, AustraliaSponsor: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Notes Running⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Buy Me A Coffee:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ buymeacoffee.com/joshlynott⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠

Location: Melbourne, AustraliaSponsor: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Notes Running⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Buy Me A Coffee:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ buymeacoffee.com/joshlynott⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠

Location: Melbourne, AustraliaSponsor: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Notes Running⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Buy Me A Coffee:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ buymeacoffee.com/joshlynott⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Poem:I thought I knew what running felt like:fast heart, flushed red cheeks,Legs heavy with an acid they call — “lactic”.Left hip tender, right knee tight,hamstrings twitching, two calves scared with fright. Hunched over, hands on my knees,Trying to make friends with oxygen/Puffing, Heaving,I asked the people around me? Am I a runner yet?Coach gave me spreadsheets,and a heart-rate strap.Above one seventy five on Tuesday, Thursday, SaturdayBelow one thirty, on the days your legs don’t feel like talking. Follow your feet, follow the signs,Follow the roads, follow the tree-lines.Just don’t follow the people on your screens.What they’re selling isn’t a feeling, it’s a pdf wrapped up in pretty colours,Trying to sell you some kind of self-healing. And if you see straight through it, You’ll go back to the start. Running way too hard, stress-fracturingwanting more of your racing heart. This isn’t running. No, this is an output. A byproduct of a curious mind,An interpretation of something divine. So what am I feeling? - A tall man stops me in my tracks.He says “I’ve been doing this fifteen years”l look him up, I look him down,Supposedly, he’s running this town. He’s got bright yellow laces, and a hat I’d like to wear.Shorts that go from Copenhagen to Berlin,An agenda he wants to tear. I’ve been in this game as long as you,I’ve had my heart broken,and my hands too,yet after all these kilometres, I’ve left something unspoken. So I’ll tell you what it feels like… Mr man. Running is a movement that rips me apart,But never leaves me lonely. Running is a place I pray,But it’s not my religion. Running is my place of claritybut it’s not my ocean.It’s the home I choose to return to,When the walls of the world shake. It takes me to the people,Who dare to hold a heart, my heart.It shows me the way through, When the signal drops out. But that’s not it. I go back to the streets,back to the red walls, and my red cheeks. I follow the white lines, I paint the white words. and one feeling comes up. Running feels like something true, a rebellion against the world I knew. If I had to choose one word to save,Mr man, the word I know,Is brave.

Recorded: Tuesday 22nd September, 2026Location: Berlin, GermanySponsor: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Notes Running⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Latest Substack: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Read here⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Buy Me A Coffee:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ buymeacoffee.com/joshlynott⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Poem:Everyone tells me to be brave,But I want to be brilliant, and they don't understand. How scary it is.To put yourself out there.To be kind when the world is cruel.To keep going when they copy.To show up tired. They think bravery is a light switch. ON. OFF. ON. OFF. ON. OFF. ON. OFF.No. Bravery is a choice. A habit. Brilliance is an illusion.

Recorded: Tuesday 15th September, 2026Location: Madeira, PortugalSponsor: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Notes Running⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Latest Substack: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Read here⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Buy Me A Coffee:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ buymeacoffee.com/joshlynott⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Poem:A year laterThe fig tree looks stronger,it has overtaken the toolshedand reaches far, talking to the sweet potatoes.Old man, he shuffles with his scissorsA full bucket of grapesHis son tells me he could go foreverI'm sure the sweet green figs will sustain him.Old lady, she makes me smile talking about sugarShe prepared dessert earlierHer heart has been shakyBut the fig tree gives her something to doMy love, Her first visit to the islandThe table below the unripened fruit is dustyI wrote many pages there, staring at the oceanI'm sure the fig tree remembersThe poet, he has returned once again.Reminded of a simple life below the mountainHe nees more time in the sun,For now, He'll share fresh figs in the shade.

Recorded: Monday Monday 7th of September, 2026Location: Toulouse, FranceSponsor: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Notes Running⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Latest Substack: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Read here⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Buy Me A Coffee:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ buymeacoffee.com/joshlynott⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Register your interest for retreat.