Yesterday was a serious blast! I went to the temple with my parents, I completed a whole bunch of chores in serious need of ... uh ... completion, I began my new schedule for journal transcription, I relaxed, I watched ponies ...
And yes, while visiting the temple was the most important thing I did yesterday, the one event I took the most personal pride in was finally beginning the draft of my first post-mission novel. I can't really describe how hard it was to just ... begin. I conceived the plot and basic world structure nearly a year and a half ago. I refined the idea a year ago. It's been rattling around in my brain for that entire time. And yet, when I finally had the time to begin ... I got stuck.
I've been there a lot.
"The first scratch is always the worst."
"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."
What keeps me from starting? I fear I won't succeed. I fear my voice won't be heard. I fear I haven't invested enough in the project to complete it. I fear I lack the necessary strength or motivation to really perform such an awesome task.
It's like sky-diving, I guess - if I'm even qualified to make the comparison, considering I've never actually, you know, dove out of the sky. I don't want to jump. I don't want to jump. I don wan oo jump. Idonwanoojump. Idonwanojum. IdowanojuIdowanojuIdowanoju...
WHOOP! I've jumped! From that point on, once I've hurdled the most terrifying part, the most risky step, everything falls together. All I can do is keep pushing forward, hoping for the very best outcome. The only way I can fail myself, at this point, is if I give up. No one may ever read what I write, but that failure is not on me. By entering the race at all, I've succeeded.
The painter waves his brush and takes a step back.
If only I'd painted that stroke in black.
The musician recalls the still-echoing tune.
If only I well-played that complex croon.
The actor bows to the sound of grand applause.
If only I'd delivered that line without pause.
The writer looks back on the sentence he wrote.
Another sentiment no person would quote.
And so each of us will try, try again,
To create an art worthy of the maker's hand,
Though we, through our years, will never make perfection,
We, ourselves, will come close through His pure affection.
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