My Journey Writing Barely Zen
When I first decided to write Barely Zen: A Completely Unscientific Guide To Life, I didn’t have a grand vision or an intricate outline. The idea was planted in my mind years earlier, growing slowly in the background of my life. At first, it was merely a collection of thoughts, conversations with friends, and reflections during quiet moments. I didn’t believe those scattered ideas could ever come together to form a book, yet something in me refused to let them go.. The seed of inspiration sprouted unexpectedly, as it often does, in a light-hearted moment. I was deep in conversation with a friend, casually rambling about life, philosophy, and the strange but meaningful ways we all try to find balance. Out of nowhere, they remarked, “You should write a book.” At the time, I laughed it off, thinking it was just one of those encouraging comments friends throw your way. Little did I know that this offhand suggestion would linger in my mind for years like a quiet, persistent whisper.
Fast forward several years to a rainy afternoon on a train ride from York to Manchester. I found myself alone with my thoughts and hours of uninterrupted time—a rare luxury. Something about that moment felt right, and the creative spark finally ignited. I opened my laptop and began typing, unsure of where I was headed but eager to follow the impulse. I didn’t know it at the time, but those early paragraphs would form the foundation of what became Barely Zen. I knew from the outset that I wanted this book to be different. I didn’t want to write a conventional self-help book filled with rigid rules or dense theories. I’m not a guru or a scientist. I’m someone who, like many of you, has stumbled through life, searching for clarity in moments of chaos. What I offer are my experiences—small moments of insight, practical habits, and a mindset that has helped me find peace amidst the noise. I wanted to share these lessons in a way that felt approachable, even humorous, without the heavy-handedness often found in similar books.
The writing process itself was a journey of discovery. Early on, I struggled with structure. How do you organise a lifetime of thoughts and experiences into something cohesive? I experimented with formats until I landed on the idea of having the main chapter content followed by “Zenbites”—short, digestible sections that convey key insights—and “Zenquests,” actionable exercises that invite readers to engage with the concepts on a deeper level. These elements became the backbone of the book, allowing me to present each topic in a way that was easy to understand and apply. As I wrote, certain themes naturally took center stage: stress, balance, intuition, and mindfulness. I reflected on the hidden stressors that chip away at our well-being, the importance of grounding oneself in the present moment, and the power of small, mindful habits. Each chapter became a personal exploration of these ideas, inspired by moments in my own life when I had to pause, reassess, and find my footing again.
Of course, the journey wasn’t without its challenges. Self-doubt crept in frequently, whispering questions like, “Who are you to write this book?” and “Will anyone care about these stories?” There were days when the words flowed effortlessly and days when I couldn’t string a sentence together. But through it all, I reminded myself of the core reason I started: If even one person found comfort, insight, or inspiration from reading Barely Zen, the effort would be worth it. One of the most rewarding aspects of the process was discovering how much writing the book taught me about myself. As I delved into concepts like deep breathing, resilience, and letting go of perfectionism, I realised how often I needed those lessons in my own life. Writing became a form of therapy—a way to clarify my thoughts, confront my fears, and reaffirm my beliefs about what it means to live a balanced, fulfilling life.
It’s humbling to know that what began as a personal journey has the potential to reach and impact others. Now that the book is out in the world, I feel a deep sense of gratitude. The journey from idea to publication wasn’t easy, but it was profoundly rewarding. I’ve learned that creativity doesn’t require a perfect plan or ideal conditions. Sometimes, it’s about trusting the process, starting where you are, and taking one step at a time.
For anyone contemplating their own creative project—whether it’s a book, a blog, or something entirely different—I encourage you to start today. Your ideas, no matter how scattered or unpolished, are worth exploring. You never know where they might lead.
Thank you for joining me on this journey. I hope Barely Zen: offers you as much insight and inspiration as it gave me while writing it.