It’s a bit intimidating to write when your ideas are tadpoles and your skills are rusty. But here I am.

I remember before I jumped into a short-lived career of what now seems like a fever dream of being a newspaper columnist, I had just started to write again– I read this book (The Subtle Art of Not Giving A Fuck by Mark Manson) and in there he said something about doing something every day to get good at it… I am paraphrasing and can’t be bothered to look it up past the five second glimpse I took on Google.

Anyway, I read that book and it was a bit of a lightbulb moment for me.

‘Of course I should start writing again,’ I told myself.

Mind you, when that lightbulb went off we were in the middle of a pandemic. Back then I was furloughed from my job, the world was largely shutdown, and I was wealthy with an abundance of time. It seemed like a good hobby (and habit) to pick up again, especially since everything in those early pandemic days was so abnormal. Remember the toilet paper shortage and hoarding situation?

Anyway…

I decided to start writing again because I used to write blog posts for fun back in the day, when I had no kids, no cable, and all the single gal time in the world– I was in the centre of my own universe (For better or worse, often for worse…) and I would share stories, opinions, and little musings that only a handful of people cared to read. I was appreciative to have an audience. It always feels mighty nice when people are interested in you and in the things you have to say.

I liked doing it.

I’ve been meaning to start a new blog since I left the newspaper. I bought this web domain on a whim last summer, with good intentions and the promise of starting tomorrow, or the next tomorrow, or the tomorrow after that. If I am being honest I think one of the biggest things, aside from laziness, that has stopped me from starting this blog is fear. I fretted (and still fret) about publishing unedited, misspelled, and over-comma’d words. I told myself that I have nothing of value to say. I worried and will probably always feel worry about people laughing at me, or being mean to me. I worry about overcommitting to another sedentary hobby that I will barely have time for, or only having this barely there shred of a platform on the internet to offer if I ask someone to share their story with me…

It’s actually really stupid, how much worry and thought I’ve put into this. I’m borrowing problems I don’t even have right now, all in the name of self doubt and procrastination… The words will come, and if they don’t, who cares. There is no mandate, mission, or click that I need to capture for this blog. If I’m the only one who ever reads it, great. At least I am still doing something I like. Life goes by far too quickly to wait and wait and wait to do things I want to do.

I dunno what this blog is gonna look like yet. I hope that I can tell stories again– mine and other peoples. In the mean time, I realized even though I don’t have a good story to share today, I shouldn’t wait for the perfect words or another tomorrow. I just need to start.

Here’s to a rusty first post.

xo, Shelley