Begin again.

What if I published my writing every day? A question I’ve asked myself half as long as I’ve been blogging.

the time is never right. I’ve made this excuse year after year. I’ll start in January. I’ll start on my birthday. I’ll start randomly & tell no one. I won’t start at all because it’s a bad idea & I’ll fail. Or I’ll be interrupted. Or it will stress me out & I’ll quit another project. Again. Or I’ll get bored. & quit. Or it’ll leave me unfocused on what I care about. So I’ll quit.

Obviously, the trending fear here is that I’ll quit.

just like my very first post 7 years ago: to begin, begin. And in this case: to begin again, begin again.

we’re living in a time where everyone makes grand gestures for little things. My daughter will have more pictures & letters written to her from me during the first months of her life than she’ll ever care to sift through. We celebrate the teeniest of milestones. Brushed my teeth today. Buy the same exact toothbrush I use to have the life that I have. Everything has to feel like “an event”.

this practice leaves me drained, out of tune with the point of gathering & making things, & feeling like I can never keep up with the Joneses. There are too many Joneses.

but enough bitching. Was just jumping back in to ask the question, “what if I published my writing every day?”