I decided to start a blog.
Obviously, you might have come to that conclusion already, considering you’re here.
But while the image I had in my head of blogging involved sitting in a cozy café, sipping my soy cappuccino, with my laptop in front of me and typing away all the things I had to say, reality turned out to be a little different.
Granted, maybe most people who decide to start a blog have put more thought into the whole thing than I have. Maybe they have a better plan, a clearer vision, and are generally better prepared.
I, on the other hand, just had this urge to create a space for myself and my thoughts.
I guess my circumstances made me feel like I didn’t have that space in my physical life. Although, ironically, I do feel like I’m taking up too much space with my body—but that’s a different topic for a different post.
I wanted a place where I could be myself, speak my mind, and hopefully find a community. Like-minded people who might understand me, with whom I could discuss ideas, share experiences, and work through the questions life keeps throwing at us.
And I figured the internet might be the place where I could dare to try something like that.
Hence, the blog.
But here I am, sitting in my room—which isn’t even in my own apartment, but in my mother’s house—too broke to go to a café. Not that I particularly want to make the journey anyway, considering my mother lives at the end of the world.
So I’m sitting here with my laptop and…
Nothing to say.
I thought I had thoughts. Quite a lot of them, actually. But more often than not, the moment I try to write them down, they seem to disappear.
I stare at the blank page, trying to remember what on earth I wanted to tell the world.
And the world isn’t even listening yet!
I’m no psychologist, but I’m pretty sure there’s more to this than simply living the most boring life imaginable.
At this point, hardly anyone knows about my blog, and no one is really reading it. Yet somehow, I manage to conjure up enough fear to stop myself from posting something.
Anything.
It’s not even a problem exclusive to blogging. I have diary entries in which I criticize myself for having nothing meaningful to write about.
Imagine that. Judging yourself for not being interesting enough in a book that literally nobody else is supposed to read.
Maybe part of the problem is that the concept of my blog is too broad. I thought that by not limiting myself to one particular niche, I would have an easier time finding topics to write about.
Instead, I may have created so many possibilities that I can’t focus on a single one.
Or perhaps I’m simply putting too much pressure on myself to make every post meaningful, insightful, or worth someone else’s time.
Which brings me to something I recently came across.
In her book Bird by Bird, writer Anne Lamott discusses the importance of allowing ourselves to write terrible first drafts. One of her observations particularly fits my situation:
“Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start somewhere.”
— Anne Lamott
And I suppose that’s exactly what I struggle with.
I want to create something worth reading, but I’m so preoccupied with the idea of producing something good that I sometimes struggle to produce anything at all.
So, why am I writing about this?
Well, to be honest, I have a little deal going on with a friend. We agreed to hold each other accountable for our personal goals, and my part of the deal is to publish one blog post every week.
I decided Fridays would be my deadline.
And today is Friday.
And I haven’t managed to write anything else.
So here we are.
But perhaps this post might turn out to be a good consolation for my currently imaginary community.
Because no matter how easy something might appear from the outside, that doesn’t mean it was easy for the person who accomplished it. And it certainly doesn’t mean it will be easy for you.
You are not failing simply because you’re struggling.
From my experience, struggling often means that whatever you’re working on matters a great deal to you.
And yes, we’ve all heard the advice by now: showing up is better than endlessly postponing something in pursuit of perfection.
But knowing something and actually putting it into practice are two very different things.
There are so many situations in life that frighten us, even when we have practically nothing to lose.
Like me, sitting here, afraid to publish a blog post that almost nobody is going to read.
It’s ridiculous when I think about it.
And yet, the fear is real.
Maybe I don’t need to have something profound to say every Friday. Maybe I don’t need to inspire anyone, teach anyone, or come to some life-changing realization.
Maybe sometimes it’s enough to sit down, write about what’s going on in my head, and allow it to be imperfect.
After all, I wanted this blog to be a place where I could be myself.
And being myself should probably include the days when I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.
So here it is. My blog post about not being able to write a blog post.
Not exactly the inspiring café scene I imagined, but at least I showed up.
And maybe that’s a good enough beginning.
Just try to show up for yourself.
That’s what I’m trying to do.
XOXO,
Andy