A Blank Page
The start.
I always start.
Sometimes (often) without a plan. Just a feeling that I want to do something in a certain direction. So I point that way and begin.
About half a mile in, I realize I have no idea how to do it. But I am committed, and now have to figure it out. So I do - with Elmer’s glue, masking tape, and a topcoat of imperfection.
Most of the time, this quality (“activator” in the Clifton Strengths world) has served me. It means I start before the fear can grab my toes. Beginning without understanding the full scope keeps me from getting scared off or exhausted before I even start. It is also, admittedly, a little delusional.
Which is exactly what I am doing with this article. I wanted to return to writing on Substack and had zero ideas, so I just started. And I started writing about starting. And now that I am four paragraphs in - a bit beyond starting - it occurs to me that I have no idea where I have started off to or what point I am going to make. But here we are! Let’s see if I can jury rig this into something worthwhile.
I think a healthy dash of delusion can be essential for artists or entrepreneurs. Businesses fail. Artistic projects can demand enormous energy for very little in return. If you sit with those realities for too long, you will never start. So put on a pair of rose-colored glasses with wide blinders and get going.
Of course, the merits of “just starting” are overly simplified. I can jump in because I’ve started businesses before and trained deeply in my artistic fields. That said, there is still always a moment to close your eyes and jump.
Lately, I am learning to take a few more beats before that jump - to peer over the rims of those rosy readers. I am adding more intentionality, but at a certain point, I get this unmistakable feeling that if I don’t start now, I never will.
…So this is the point in the “starting” of this article, that I paused and genuinely wondered, “Why don’t other people start?” I turned to *the internet* to find out. After a mild skim of mildly interesting Google results - here are my thoughts:
The internet believes that you are…
Waiting for the right time.
Yeah, okay, fair. There are terrible times to start. Like when you have a newborn. Or just got a puppy. Or did both at the same time. (Don’t do that. Personal experience.) But most other times are equally bad - so you just have to start, even if it means you move forward by nanometers.
Scared of failure or rejection.
Also fair. And you might fail epically. But that failure becomes hard-won knowledge to apply to your next thing. And honestly, you are supposed to fail. You try things. When they don’t work, that is just data. And that data informs what you do tomorrow. It leads to pivots, turns, and course corrections on the way to success. Failure isn’t the end point. It is a part of the process.
Focusing on the end point rather than the journey.
This is the same as “needing to have everything figured out before you start.” Here’s the thing: it’s impossible. You need a general direction for the ship, but you can’t know the exact destination or route until you are underway. You will learn things, change course, and adjust constantly.
Looking for some external sign that you should start.
Is it sunny out today? Wow, that’s a great omen - it’s a sign you should start.
Oh, no - is it raining today? Perfect. Stay inside and get started.
Is it overcast and blah? The world needs you to be the light. Better start.
Self-comparison or imposter syndrome.
This one is tough. I get it. Yes, those other people and projects and businesses are badass. But that does not diminish what you offer. Your difference is the point. You are making something baked by your own experience, your own voice, and your own vision.
Perfectionism
I don’t know what perfect is. Invest in some Elmer’s glue. You can fix it as you go.
You don’t know what you want to start.
Ah, yes. The idea drought. I am currently swimming in these dusty currents in one area of my life. Here’s what I’ve learned:
Ask people what they think you could be working on.
Journal every day for a week about what you would not like to create - and then shift to some “what ifs.” What if I started crocheting mittens for everyone I’ve ever met? What if I started writing music? What if I started a business selling socks that match the ones you lost in the laundry? Sometimes thinking around the edges of reality can help us see more beautifully.
I mean, y’all created your Substack, so you are no stranger to starting. And in the spirit of this article, I would like to take my own advice and ask you what I should write about next.
Cats (I’ve never owned one)? Letting going of a passion project? The merits of McDonald’s Filet-O-Fish? Observations on how “Let it Go” took over my toddler’s brain?
What have you got for me?