Nonfiction Prompt:
Tone: Honest, introspective, grounded, lightly poetic
Theme: Life between chapters
Write an essay about a period in your life when nothing dramatic was happening on the outside, yet everything felt like it was shifting inside — a season where you weren’t who you used to be, but you weren’t yet who you were becoming.
Focus on:
- The shape of your days (the routines, the quiet, the small rituals)
- The strange mixture of hope + doubt you carry
- What people think your life looks like vs. what it actually feels like
- The invisible work you’re doing: rewiring, learning, creating, preparing
- A moment (recent) when you realized you were changing — even if no one else noticed
- Why this phase might matter more than the “successful” future you imagine
End the piece by answering — honestly and without trying to sound wise: “What do I secretly hope comes next?”
Keep it:
- soft
- truthful
- not dramatic
- a little luminous around the edges
Story:
Living in a transition period feels a bit like winter. Blocks of ice cover the ground, the days are short, and everything looks lifeless. Yet we know, from experience, that plenty is happening underground. In a few months, the snow will melt into the soil and the trees will return with leaves and fruit.
I’ve lived through these winters before — seasons when the outside looks still while something inside quietly rearranges itself.
Right now, I’m experimenting with a simple hypothesis: that small good habits, practiced over a long time, will eventually bear fruit. Meditation, exercise, eating clean, writing and publishing, using AI to practice clear thinking — modest daily rituals, repeated without fanfare.
From the outside, my life probably looks dull. I worry about that sometimes. I wonder if I’m doing the wrong thing, or if I’ve wandered too far from the usual path. I don’t know anyone else living quite like this. On the surface, not much is happening, but internally I can feel a subtle shift.
My mind feels more spacious. Annoyances don’t cling the way they used to. Climbing stairs isn’t exhausting. My digestion is smooth. And my writing has improved in ways I couldn’t have predicted — AI has become a kind of mirror that helps me think with greater clarity.
My days are quiet and repetitive, like the midpoint of winter — but I trust that Spring will come for me the way it always comes for nature.
And what do I secretly hope comes next?
That all of these small habits will compound into something visible — some outer success that reflects the inner work I’ve been doing for months.
Prompt: Lumora (AI)
Story: Deepak
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