Out of the dirt. Finally.

True to form it has taken me months to gather enough courage to sit down and write this first entry. Six-months to be exact. Yikes. Has it really been that long? For the past six-months I have been telling myself to start:

“Just grab your balls and do it, Helen!” and for months I have replied:

“Nah. It’s going to suck away.”

And now you know… I struggle with fear. I have struggled with fear my whole life. Fear of the unknown, fear of failure, fear of rejection, you get the idea. I have the worst FOMO you can imagine.

I can remember sitting on the driveway as a five-year-old, crying my eyes out because I couldn’t decide if I should go with my dad do errands in town (and possibly get a treat) or stay at home where my siblings were getting ready to ride their bikes to the train tracks down the road (something we were only allowed to do if the big kids went with us). I sat and cried and cried because I did not know what to do. I remember how the dusty gravel looked between my dirty tennis shoes, and the way the light from the sunset ricocheted off the wheels on my sister’s bikes. I remember my dad squatting down beside me, trying to console me, and help weigh the pros and cons, willing me to make up my little mind already. Even after all these years, I still remember those little details, but you know what? I have no idea what I ended up choosing. Did I go to the gas station with my dad and get a candy bar? Or did I ride my bike with the big kids down to the train tracks?

I honestly don’t remember.

I suppose it doesn’t really matter though. In the end I was able to stop crying and make up my little mind. I went somewhere that summer evening, and probably had a great time, for a five-year-old. Candy or a bike ride, what’s to lose?

And I guess, in the same way, this blog doesn’t really matter either. It may become something one day as I journey to become a better writer. Or it won’t, and it will sit here collecting digital dust until I remove it one day.

But the point is that I have been sitting on my butt in the dust for a long time now, and I can’t anymore. I have to write. Even if it sucks. I have to get it out. Even. If. It. Sucks. So. Goddamn. Bad. I have to stand up, brush the dust from jeans, and get my butt off this dirty driveway where I have been wallowing (who doesn’t love a good wallow though) in my own ineptitude and failure as a writer. Plus, soon I will be 35 and I can’t, I simply won’t continue wallowing about writing into another year of my life.

There you have it. Probably the worst start to the blog, but I’m no longer sitting on the ground, paralyzed with fear. I am standing. I am covered in dirt, and my face is streaked with tears, but I am standing, damnit.

So here we go.

-Helen