
I meant to start my self-help blog earlier, but having been wounded by the double-edged sword of perfectionism, I put it off for over a year. I wanted to wait until my life was more “together.” Until I became rich enough to live in a castle overlooking the ocean. Until I could bench press a small sedan. Until I had convinced Katy Perry to marry me. Basically, I was waiting for my life to be so perfect that I became unassailable to criticism. Fortunately, I stopped waiting.
I love to write. The joy it brings me is hard to describe. It feels similar to seeing the woman you love smile at you, or standing on the rooftop of a tall building and gazing down at the pedestrians. It makes me feel full to the core. I’ll never forget the feeling I had after writing my first page. I sat back, marveled at its genius, and breathed a sigh of relief. When I re-read it the next day, I was in shock. My jaw didn’t drop, but it sure did droop. In fact, my entire face drooped so much it felt like I was wearing a leather baseball mitt for a face. I remember the sinking feeling in my chest and the swirling feeling in my head.
It sucked!
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