Whenever I start to write, I think, ‘I don’t know where to start.’ The words, the phrase, the feeling I get when I say it, they all make me so grumpy with myself. That after all this time I still get seduced by the fetish of procrastination.
But about ten minutes ago it occurred to me that if I keep saying it to myself that might be something in it. So perhaps it isn’t so much that I need to stop myself from saying it, but more that I need to listen in a different way.
It might be that ‘I don’t know where to start’ is not some kind of existential cry for help to try and overcome my ongoing inability to sit still for any length of time. If I take it at face value, it’s as simple as what it says it is. ‘I don’t know where to start.’ And the answer of course is simple too: start here.
I’ve been reminded all over again, that the times when I thought my writing was closest to where I wanted it to be, were in the early days of my blog. So that’s how I’m going to start. With you, my strange, long-lived blog. To remind myself how I used to sit and search for ways to put my feelings and sensations into words.