Readers Who are Krazy for Kindle: In which I give myself a challenge to write a blog every day

July 18, 2010

In which I give myself a challenge to write a blog every day

Me and consistency have never really been friends. I'm kinda afraid of it. I learned very early that expectations = disappointment. Hey, I can single-mindedly pursue a goal, and should anyone tell me I can't do something, well ... that's gas in the engine. Vroom. Vroom. Watch me.

However, committing to doing a single thing every day (or once a week or hell, once a month) makes my stomach hurt. I feel this little knot of worry form inside my chest, and nestled within it is the seed of failure. Failure, which inevitably blooms, and crowds out my lungs, and makes me dizzy and light-headed and I CAN'T BREATHE. Damn you, consistency. Routine. Sameness.

I fear I will fail. But ... fear = failure, doesn't it?

At least once a week, I think about moving to Ireland. Or Denmark. Or Italy. I have spent hours dreaming about where I would live and what I would do and who I would meet. I've gone online and looked up all kinds of information about housing, rules for living abroad, schools, and tax liabilities. Partly, I think about moving somewhere else because stability is all around me ... it is me, and I'm still not used to it. I want to throw everything and everyone I love into an RV and drive and drive and drive.

But I don't run away anymore. I refuse.

One of my favorite quotes is by Robert Louis Stevenson: "You cannot run away from weakness; you must some time fight it out or perish; and if that be so, why not now, and where you stand?"

So, I stand. Sometimes with knees quivering and tears falling, but I stand all the same.

The other part, of course, is that I like to dream. I think about my life, my writing, my children, my apartment, my animals ... about everything. In my mind, I re-arrange mental furniture. I chuck things out the door, and bring things in. I dream every day, sitting in my chair or lolling too long in bed, and think about all things I can do. It doesn't matter if I actually do them, not really. It's the act of dreaming that is wondrous. It's why I write. To dream with words.

I'm committing to writing a blog every day about ... well, writing. And how it intersects with my life, or really, how it is my life. Writing is like breathing, and therefore, it is also consistency.

Fear be damned.