I update this blog every day for myself.
There really isn’t anyone else. Maybe a tiny handful of people that feel a kind of unconditional obligation of support. People like my mom. Hi mom.
But I didn’t start posting every day on the idea that I’d get some kind of big, meaningful audience for these words. I started posting every day to prove, to me, that I could.
It turns out I can. I can do it every day.
I’m not spinning out any kind of gold, here. I’m spinning out competence and confidence. I’m allowing imperfect effort into the world on a daily basis. It’s a real challenge. It makes me feel vulnerable and a little ugly.
This is good. Because the opposite of those feelings is perpetual perfectionism, which is another way of describing perpetual procrastination.
I’m training myself out of inaction over here. No one has to notice. No one has to care.
No one, that is, except for me.