And so, it begins.

And so, it begins.

For me, writing is both a tortuous and therapeutic process. It is one of my favourite ways to spend my free time and yet, it is also quite often one of my biggest sources of insecurity and self-criticism. NOTHING is ever well researched enough, well argued enough, poetic enough.

And despite the multitude of evidence to the contrary, nothing is so sufficient as to placate my inner bitch. Somehow, time and time again, she manages to convince me that it could always be better if only I spent a bit more time; if only I were as talented and intelligent as so and so; if only my thoughts were more profound and my conclusions more meaningful. If only I was THAT kind of talented.

By the time I get to the end of whatever it is I’m working on, I have so little confidence in what I have written that I wonder whether it’s even worth sharing with my boyfriend, let alone the rest of the world.

But No Longer

I recently decided that I have had enough of being my own biggest obstacle to success. The old me got in my own way so quickly that I could forget about achieving anything – I wasn’t even going to let myself try. Because when you try, there is always the potential that you might fail. And well, failing is scary and inspires lots of negative thoughts. Add to that a healthy dose of perfectionism and you’ve got yourself a recipe for complacency and procrastination. Try making progress in life like that why dontcha.

I mean the truth is, I have tried. And it doesn’t work very well. Hence why I’m here. I recently tired of the mental torment and boredom that comes along with only being willing to do things perfectly. I decided that my key New Years Resolution was to start accepting ‘good enough’, which is the only reason I have managed to journal 8+ times in one month. I have been successful simply because I don’t let myself rip out a page the second my pen slips or I misspell a word. I don’t worry about whether I have deep and meaningful thoughts to say. I just write. Whatever comes to mind… I write. I aim for three pages and I usually get pretty damn close. And, typically, by the end of the 30-minute exercise, I have managed to find a new perspective. But that’s beside the point. Regardless of whether I come to an interesting new conclusion, I always feel better by the end. And the product is far from perfect, which is something I am growing to love about my journal. There is such freedom in the continuous stream of thoughts to paper.

An Imperfect Blog

So that’s what I see this being. An extension of the kind of writing I have been practicing by hand in my journal. A digital space that is equally free of the self-imposed, hyper-critical and perfectionistic tendencies I very unsuccessfully tried to impose on my yearly commitments to keep a journal. I want this to be a success. Which means, I want this to be something I contribute to on a regular basis.


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