I guess for me the most difficult thing to do is always to start. Delaying something that could be done today in order to make it perfect is certainly one of my favourite strategy – and I am probably not the only one. As Lucy Maud Montgomery put it, “Isn’t it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?” However, sometimes you just have that epiphany that the waterfall of thoughts irrigating your mind is either going to explose or to dry out because it has not been properly cared for. Let us therefore not let the perfect be the enemy of the good : the day has come to take the leap.
So here I am, writing words after words in a perfect literary atmosphere – surrounded by books in a library. I guess the desire to write has always been a part of me, and I have always been aware of it. I have always let my mind rambled about an imaginary future where I would be a prize-winning writer, able to write as easily as I am to breathe. Nevertheless, every time I drifted away in this quixotic world, the coming back to reality hit me harder than the time before. The apparent seriousness and demanding aspect of life, of real life, seemed to dawn on me. It took me time to realize that the barriers I was seeing in front of me were only the ones I let my mind impose on myself. What a nasty mind I had.
Whether the project will work out well, that is another question. Indeed, knowing the outcome means having taken the risk.