I hate restarting things. It doesn’t matter what needs restarting. Because, to restart, one must first admit to failure. And I hate doing so, even tacitly; the hustle of working up the motivation to start again and, when this is done, enduring the pressure to measure up to the highest point of the previous run.
And yet life wouldn’t be what it is if we all gave up upon failing. For life is an endless series of fits and starts, failures and successes. No one, absolutely no one, gets to have a good day every day. We don’t really have much of a choice if we want to achieve anything worthwhile. We must restart. Or die.
We succeed, not by having only good days, but by building up the habit of dusting ourselves off and beginning again, picking up where we left off. And the bigger the fall, the bigger our rise must be, even if it starts small. To paraphrase the words of a man I admire, we fall only because we need to rise again; we are not supposed to stay down.
And so, here I am, punching out words onto my screen, trying to blog again after over two years of silence. How do you even start writing a new blog post after almost three years of not writing one? What excuses do you give for your lengthy silence? Do you even try?
Merely saying these words sickens me. So let’s just pretend I’ve been here all along, alright?
I am confused, worried and stressed. I simultaneously don’t know what to write and have a million different ideas. I don’t know where I want this blog to go, but I also know it can go to the whole world.
So, here’s to a restart. There’ll probably be more short stories this time. Perhaps only short stories. Buckle up.