Begin

Before I got back into the swing of blogging, I’d become discouraged when I thought about where to begin. Should I begin at Burning Man? At Bonnaroo? At my college graduation? Those questions tainted my thoughts before I even started writing.

I was discouraged because I thought it was too late to tell those stories. I was discouraged because I didn’t have a theme picked out or fonts or what type of style I wanted my blog to be. It took me awhile to quell the perfectionist in me and just begin. Just begin with a story. Begin with a word. Begin with any post. I’ll begin here.

I felt I had so many stories to share, but the memories already passed. The time wasn’t relevant. I would be blogging about things that happened months, years ago. But what does it matter? The lessons and meanings from the story still hold true regardless of when the story is told. Begin anywhere. Begin.

Vincent Van Gogh didn’t start painting until he was 27. Bill Withers started his singing career in his late twenties.

Never let anyone tell you you’re too old or too young to do something. You can begin anywhere.

There are no rules to this thing. Sure there are other people’s experiences, but those are only guidelines. No one lives the same life. You can start anywhere you want.

Life is beginning every single second. Even when it’s ending, it’s still beginning. Begin on a Saturday. Begin on a Monday. Begin on a Wednesday afternoon. Begin on a day, on a second, on a whim. Life is always beginning and you can always begin.

Quote of the Week

This week’s quote is also from “Sonny’s Blues” by James Baldwin:

“All I know about music is that not many people ever really hear it. And even then, on the rare occasions when something opens within, and the music enters, what we mainly hear, or hear corroborated, are personal, private, vanishing evocations. But the man who creates the music is hearing something else, is dealing with the roar rising from the void and imposing order on it as it hits the air. What is evoked in him, then, is of another order, more terrible because it has no words, and triumphant, too, for that same reason. And his triumph, when he triumphs, is ours.