Thirty Six

I genuinely thought I wouldn’t make it this far

When I started this blog, I wasn’t that convinced that I could make it stick. Yes, I’ve referred to the shitty committee multiple times already, and this was a shiny example of that. The committee was very keen to remind me that every single writing exercise I’ve done so far is now consigned to the annals of history, because I could never stick to it.

And, to be fair, they have been absolutely right.

I’m also having to deal - right now - with describing entirely imaginary voices in my head, to which I’ve attached the label of the shitty committee, and which are all sharing the same apparent age, experience, and even appearance as me, without looking like I have completely lost my marbles. I have been assured by my therapist that despite feeling insane, I’m really not. This sensation is not unheard of when you have the spare brainpower to be able to be aware of the workings of the inside of your head so intimately.

Back to the point. The committee have been right. I have started and stopped more blogs on more platforms than I can shake a stick at - right back to the early days of Movable Type, which is the ancient software I hosted my first blog on.

All that writing is long gone. Sadly, I’ve learnt almost nothing from the process other than give the committee more ammo to point at me, more’s the pity.

It’s also not been that easy. I’ve deliberately started writing about this early in my weekly schedule, because I don’t want to repeat the same mistakes I made before. And when I say before, I mean in the last three weeks - all of which have been written on the day they are due, like a naughty boy leaving his homework to the last minute.

This time things feel a little different.

Sure, I’ve got angry. I’ve committed to things and then promptly dropped them, even when I’m sure I’m not going to.

This blog might still go the way of the previous ones, and just disappear.

There is one difference, though - I’m getting more aware of my foibles, thanks to therapy, and I’m more aware of the need to commit to schedules publicly, drop the sense of worry or shame about what a bunch of total strangers might think of my writing, and instead practice the art of just getting it out there in whatever rough format flows out of my brain and onto the page.

The balance is starting - ever so slowly - to tip from worrying about something and letting those worries manifest the thing I was worrying about, and instead simply thinking of something and just doing it when I think of it, before the committee can weigh in and stymie my efforts.

As always, the proof is in the pudding. I’m not at a year of weekly posts yet, and there are still four more months to go…

But I’ve got to thirty six weeks without missing one.

And that’s worth celebrating as a win, for me at least.

See you next week.