This morning, I read a quote by Marcus Aurelius that landed differently than usual:

“At dawn, when you have trouble getting out of bed, tell yourself: ‘I have to go to work — as a human being. What do I have to complain of, if I’m going to do what I was born for — the things I was brought into the world to do?’”
— Meditations, Book 5

It made me stop and ask: What was I born to do?

Not in some grand, philosophical sense. Just… today. What do I know I can do today that brings me back to myself?

And the answer came quickly. Not dramatic. Not fancy. Just this:

  • Walk the dog.
  • Come home.
  • Make a cup of tea.
  • Go to the gym.

Every single day. Regardless of how I feel.
Even when I’m tired. Even when I’m flat. Even when I’ve had a terrible night’s sleep.

And what I do at the gym doesn’t have to be the same every day.
Some days it might just be stretching.
Some days, I’ll run—Zone 2, 30 minutes. Nothing crazy. Just steady, consistent movement that I actually enjoy.
Over time, that adds up.

That will take me closer to the body I want to live in—around 85kg, strong, mobile, grounded. Not to look a certain way. But to feel a certain way.
To feel capable. Present. Masculine.
To feel like the man I want to be is already here—just waiting for me to meet him in the mirror each morning.

This routine might only take an hour and a half, but it’s more than that. It’s a ritual of self-respect.

It’s a contract with myself.

On the days I have Victor, it still works.
I can walk Pixie before taking him to school, then go to the gym after.
It adapts. It fits. And it puts me in places where connection is more likely—
the dog walk. The gym. Not chasing people, just placing myself in the world.

And the deeper truth is this:

It’s not about the walk. It’s not about the run.
It’s about showing myself that I am worthy of love, care, and daily attention.

Because I’ve spent too many years giving those things to everyone else.
Now it’s my turn.
And this—this simple, repeatable, soul-anchored rhythm—is a foundation to build a life on.

So I’ll keep it simple.
No fireworks.
Just this quiet vow:

“I’ll show up for myself every day—because I am worth showing up for.”

Question for reflection:
What would change in my life if I treated my daily rhythm not as a chore, but as proof of my own worth?