I don’t consider myself a writer. I consider myself someone who has done a significant amount of writing in my short nineteen years of living though. And after my first year of college as an English major who’s done more writing this past year (and anticipates way more in the next five or six) than ever before (and who tried to love every minute of it, or at least take valuable lessons from it when I didn’t), I can pretty confidently make the claim that, at least for me, one of (if not the most) difficult part of writing is starting. It’s not even drafting so much as just hands to keyboard, thoughts to page, words on screen. (I’ve also learned that I love to use parentheses in my blogs (and in emails)).
I think that’s the case with most things in my life.
Sorting through the nerves, the worry, the overwhelming anxiety enough to convince myself that I can, in fact, do it, and that regardless of the outcome, the jump alone is worth it.
I know I’ve written about this before, it felt necessary this evening. Thankful Thursday post to come, not to worry, ol’ chaps.