"All beginnings are hard," writes Chaim Potok. Well, no shit. The blank page is fraught. It's filled with the specters of all the half-shaped ideas as yet only swirling around in my brain, all the cleverly worded comments meant to brilliantly showcase my wit. No pressure there, huh? No pressure, at least, if I give myself permission to simply stumble out onto the stage, my lines imperfectly memorized, to just get out there and begin.
The problem with perfectionism is that it keeps you from starting anything. There's this fear that you might god forbid fail, that you might not be stunningly perfect at a brand new skill on your very first attempt. (Ah, says the Zen master, but if you fail, then...what? It only matters if your ego is invested.) Well here's the thing, Grasshopper: ego is always invested. If you're me, at least. If you're trying something, like writing, that you consider yourself to be good at. If you've burdened yourself with expectation, imagining an audience rapt and attentive, certain of an ovation-worthy performance. The feeling is tiresome, really. But hard to shuck off.
I have to remind myself that it's okay to make mistakes. That you crawl before you walk. And that, oh yeah, no one likes a prodigy, anyway. With that in mind, here's my first blog post. It's something I've wanted to do for a long time, but kept putting off, because I was just too afraid to begin.
1 comment:
I'm honoured to be able to make the very first comment on your perfectly begun blog. It's begun, isn't it? What could be more perfect than that? I'm also most happy to hear that I saved you from destroying such a fragile wonder as a Cormo fleece, and I hope you'll be posting details on how your processing goes. I messed mine up at the combing stage, trying to save every little bit (a character flaw of which I seek to rid myself someday) and thereby introducing icky neps. So now the fleece sits waiting until I've practiced on some less delicate beasties.
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