One of the useful and unexpected side-effects of creating art every day and sticking it to the wall is that it slows down time. The days can blend together—a day becomes a week, a week becomes a month. When you have evidence of your existence every day, that happens a little less.
If I spin on my chair by 90 degrees, I’m faced with half of a (small) wall covered in art that I’ve made. It reminds me that for each of those days, I made something. I did something small for myself. Something I’m proud of. Some of them take 10 minutes, but that doesn’t matter.
A year from now, they won’t all fit on the wall. They won’t fit across all of the walls in my small office. I’ll have a stack of art that I won’t know what to do with. A small mountain of things that I made, just because. I feel a strange sense of pride and energy just thinking about it.
When time feels like it’s slipping by too quickly, I’ll walk into my office and look at the walls. I’ll remind myself that each piece marks a day that I existed—that I did more than exist, actually. I made a mark—figuratively and literally—on my own small part of the universe.