I’ve never known the entire journey in advance. That’s the scary part. Things just unfold in real time interspersed with memories and ruminations. To tell the beginning middle and end all at once feels monumental. How do people do it? How long does it take? How do they know they’re on the right track? Or more importantly not on the right track? Storytelling feels impossible. And yet people do it every day. Write books. Makes movies. From start to finish. They say it’s done. And let it be that way.
It seems so obvious that the only option is to write and write and write. But fear is such a powerful force. Fear can stop the strongest person. Fear can stop the most powerful idea. Fear can rule if you let it.
And I do feel afraid. Afraid there isn’t what I want actually inside of me. Afraid I’ll never catch the flow I need to get from here to there. Afraid all this time spent thinking and writing won’t add up to what I want it to.
But here I am. Writing. Setting audacious goals for myself in the new year. Telling a few here and there. Setting accountability into action. Not letting up. Pushing through. Braving the fear I feel.
I don’t know how this will end. I don’t know what done looks like. Can I harness that in some way? Does it really matter that I don’t know? Would it make this less meaningful?
Maybe not knowing the end is a blessing. Yes. I think it is. Being somewhat blind has its merits. The journey. That’s what matters. From here to there. However you get there. Get there. Get there.
