It is January 31st. I sit here pen in hand staring at this moleskine notebook I use to keep business notes. It also holds blog post ideas that I write down in moments of brilliance and then promptly forget. No idea has been seen through. Partially due to laziness (who wants to blog when there are so many other things that need to be tended to?), but mostly due to fear. Specifically shame. That dreaded " I'm not good enough" feeling that resides in the back of mine and so many other artists' minds. "No one wants to hear what I have to say," or "someone else can articulate this so much better." No one may want to hear what I have to say and others definitely could articulate similar ideas better. But this isn't about others' interests or writing prowess. It's about imperfection and the feelings and beauty that originate from that. It's about me and the perfectly imperfect people I am so honored to surround myself with year after year.
It is about this.