Here’s the thing: I want to write things. I want people to read the things I write. I’d like very much to have my livelihood be supplemented by my creative work, but it just doesn’t seem doable. I don’t quite know where to start and I feel like I need to have some sort of focus in order to own a blog. Also, who will read it? Who is interested in the things I have to say? Maybe I have imposter syndrome…something spiritual and horrible telling me that I can’t actually do this very thing I feel like I really want to do. How fun: to be a blog-mom! How fun to write about the things I learn as a twenty-something. I’d love to take some photos, edit some stuff, write some things, host some ads…make a few pennies a month. I’d love to jot something down in a text box and scour it over and over until I feel it’s worth publishing, then immediately scour it some more. I guess I don’t really know what’s stopping me.
I get the heebie-jeebies thinking about the family and friends who would be reading what I’ve written and considering what they’d think of me. As if that matters. Hasn’t that been the very lesson that I’ve been so slow and stubborn to learn this year: that what other people think does not matter? Hasn’t that been at the center of every tornado of anxiety my mind has spiraled into lately? When I peel down to the core of my worry, it’s always got other people’s opinions etched all over it. What’s up with that?
Anyway, I’ll write this and leave it here until a future date when I feel more sorted and more courageous and more like I have something worth saying. For now, my only commitment might just be that I should try this writing thing again, since it seems to make my heart beat a little faster.
this abundant life 