My partner once asked me, “What would you do if you weren’t a designer?”

I thought for a while. I wasn’t particularly good at writing, nor had I much experience doing it professionally. I just liked it.

“I’d be a writer.”

Last October, I promised myself I would write every single day for the rest of my life. Writing gave me clarity, helped me flesh out ideas, and made me more confident running my own business. I stopped writing after getting a day job. I didn’t have the time for such trivial tasks.

It has been ten years since I ran a blog of my own. 2017 was a difficult year that forced me to reexamine every facet of my life. The prospect of writing in public feels equal parts daunting and cathartic. I wanted to get it out there, but I also wanted to get it just right. If there was anything I was more afraid of than people, it was their opinions. I had to force myself to ignore the end product, throwing myself into the process.

I delved into unfinished books on writing. I signed up for courses and workshops. I dusted off my trusty Nikon and charged the batteries. I picked up the habit of writing daily, hoping for the same clarity it had given me in the past.

It wasn’t quite as eye-opening this time around — after all, it wasn’t clarity I needed, but focus. I wrote 16000 words in November, more than I had written all year. Finally, I scheduled my first post for the 3rd of December 2017. Today.

I might never get my blog right. But I could get it written.

Everything has to start somewhere. I’m starting here.