UP::[[About this project]] Last updated: 2025-05-02 --- This section will feature condensed digests of my daily logs from the [[Process Journal]]. These weekly summaries serve as a zoomed-out view of my journey, helping me see: - **Where I am** in the process. - **Where I’m struggling**, and what hurdles need addressing. - **Where I’m heading next**, giving me a clearer navigation towards upcoming milestones. - **How to practice** intentional [[Grounding]] These reflections will provide clarity, celebrate small wins, and recalibrate my focus when needed. By stepping back each week, I aim to refine my approach, set intentions, and stay grounded as I progress. # Week Ending 2025-05-02 This week, I closed a chapter—literally and figuratively. After 870 minutes, all ten chapters of my first draft are done. 🥹 A part of me wonders: _Why didn’t I just sit and finish this milestone earlier?_ Could I have? Maybe. But okay, shush, [[Zuzubi]]. I showed up, again and again, and that counts more than binge-finishing anything. This week was also filled with other wins: – I met a serendipitous `.r` chunk that unlocked a tricky Quarto piece. – I rewrote an old quote to match my data philosophy: “Data, like people, open up when you treat them with curiosity.” – I embraced my inner artist again—sketching mango baskets and kitchens to teach exporting data. – And I felt that gentle panic… “Wait, did I actually near the finish line?” Yes, I did. First drafts are here. The next chapter begins: polish, simplify, teach with care. And if Zuzubi ever pipes up again, I now have a ready answer: >[!quote] **“The magic wasn’t in rushing. It was in returning.”** # April 11-30 PKM break ## Mar-April 2025 - Weekly Reflection: From Zuzubi to Flow This past stretch of writing has been full of stumbles, breakthroughs, and soft revolutions. If I were to name this week’s arc, it would be: **From Zuzubi to Flow.** It began, as many things do, with doubt. There was Zuzubi—my loud, persistent inner critic—chiming in mid-chapter with classic jabs: “You’re writing a book on coding, and there’s barely any code!” And when I ignored her? She got sharper: “Are you procrastinating? Making this too fun for yourself?” (Guilty. It _is_ fun.) But it was on 7th Feb that I truly started listening. Not to be discouraged, but to reflect. The next day, I sat with one of my book’s foundational counterarguments—that learning R _through reproducibility_ might feel abstract or unnecessary to beginners. What emerged was the **brushing analogy**: just like brushing your teeth, reproducibility is tedious until it becomes second nature—and then it saves you from messes. The analogy unlocked something. I felt grounded, not just in logic, but in the kind of compassionate clarity I want my book to hold. Mid-March brought a return. After a month of conference travel and personal transitions, I found myself drawn back to the book—not with pressure, but with natural gravity. I didn’t force myself into a chapter. Instead, I read Rumi. And I saw in his lines something about data, about sharing, about cycles. That day, I didn't write a full new chapter—but I layered meaning into an existing one. Quietly, I felt back in motion. From there, something shifted. I wrote a clean, minimal chapter. I decided to add _TL;DRs_ and _takeaways_ to each chapter so that readers could choose their own path. I smiled a lot while writing. I imagined someone curled up in bed with my book—reading code stories like bedtime tales. Then came the delight of reworking. Inspired by a book called _Nobody Reads Your …_, I went back to six old chapters and infused them with humor, action points, and warmth. Somewhere in that process, I remembered what my PhD supervisor said during my viva: > “Soundarya always comes back to improve things—that’s a great quality.” I don’t just write. I revise. I play. I rework. I enjoy seeing the “before” and “after,” like watching something grow. And then came the high point. Just this week, I sat down to write the chapter on **importing and exporting data in R**. And something beautiful happened: my mind lit up with illustrations. I drew houses, mango baskets, kitchen metaphors—let’s just say Excalidraw and I were best friends for a day. I found my creative core _buzzing_. The child in me was dancing. I wasn’t just writing—I was storytelling through visuals. It felt alive. Oh, and I rediscovered an old draft of that same chapter in my vault. Instead of feeling annoyed, I smiled. I now know I’ll bring them together. I have enough trust in my process to not worry about timing. ## ✨ This week taught me: - The critic voice (hello, Zuzubi) isn’t the enemy—it’s a mirror. - Counterarguments are opportunities, not threats. - I am at my best when I teach through metaphor, movement, and meaning. - Creativity is not separate from reproducibility. It _is_ reproducibility in another language. - Writing is play. And play is serious work. # Until March 18 PKM break # Feb 6 - Feb 20 PKM break # Week 2 (Jan 27 – Feb 5, 2025) This week was a testament to **momentum, clarity, and trust in the process.** After a brief but intense cycle of travel and public speaking (where I apparently topped their charts—minus the award 🙃), I eased back into writing. The distance from my drafts proved invaluable; stepping away and returning with fresh eyes allowed me to **see, not just edit.** And what I saw felt right. I hit a major milestone—Chapter 1 **done.** Then, riding that wave, **Chapter 3, done.** 🔥 The week also reinforced an important lesson: **awareness leads to better choices.** I caught myself over-explaining and using references that might not land with my readers. Instead of scrapping them entirely, I found ways to provide context or relocate them to where they fit better. Writing is iterative, yes—but sometimes, you just have to trust that a draft is strong enough to stand as is. A week ago, I was adjusting back from travel; today, I’m sitting with two completed chapters and a deep sense of movement. This is what building a book looks like—one focused, iterative, and **on-fire** session at a time. # Week 1 (Jan 20-26, 2025) This week, I worked on refining my book’s purpose as a narrative and practical guide for non-programmers learning R. I outlined the curriculum, added chapters like data cleaning, and tackled challenges such as balancing engaging storytelling with concise, technical content. I addressed resistance from “quick fixers “ who view reproducibility as time-consuming and explored concepts like Slow Productivity to advocate for a deliberate approach. I also began drafting outreach emails for case study contributions and used freewriting to clarify themes and refine my narrative, ensuring alignment with my intentions. Through this process, I learned to embrace reproducibility as a mindset that values the journey over immediate results, framing it as a practice of patience and intention. I grounded myself by practicing mindfulness during writing sessions, gently guiding my focus back when distractions arose. Challenging assumptions and addressing biases helped me gain clarity, and I reaffirmed the power of small, actionable steps to build momentum. This week, I deepened my connection to the book’s purpose and strengthened its foundation through intentional reflection.