For the longest time, I’ve wanted to write something. But I haven’t been able to find any inspiration. And whenever I did, I couldn’t find the energy to put my thoughts and feelings into words. After the first several times that this happened, I stopped taking any kind of vain attempt at writing and just gave up. Now I know that this is not the brave nor the best things to do; it’s an act of complete cowardliness and I was only wrecking my own dreams of becoming a writer that someone somewhere would read and in turn be inspired by and also admire as a stellar human being. But I guess that was not meant to be.
But I have made a new promise to myself; to begin writing again, to just put my thoughts and feelings back into words. This shan’t be too hard: I already do this to some extent in my mind. Now all I have to do is to transfer those words onto paper.
My problem has always been that I am a perfectionist. This I do not disagree with. It’s the complete truth. What is sad and also deplorable is that I let this need for perfection take over my desire to be heard. No more. I will attempt as much as I can to take back my dream and begin re-building it again. I expect difficulties to get in the way, as difficulties are wont to do, but I will endeavour to do my utmost to make my dreams come at least partway true.
One thing that I am happy about is that I am learning come to terms with my flaws. I am still learning so I haven’t perfected this. But that’s okay. Over the years, I have come to realise that life is not always, or in fact, ever, about being perfect. It’s about living and living well or happily that you would not one day look back upon your life and regret almost everything. One life and all that.