Start Where You Are

I’m not really a blank page kinda gal. I never have been. I like instructions, rules, some sort of a structure so that I know I’m getting it right and I’m doing it properly. That’s why sitting down to write this first post has taken me an inordinately long time.

A non-exhaustive list of things I did instead of just writing something down: read a self-help book about getting unstuck, cleaned the house, organised my photos, researched gentle productivity methods, catalogued my wardrobe, listened to an audiobook about design principles, cleared out an old chest of drawers. Unsurprisingly, my page was still blank each time I returned to it.

Part of my reluctance came from the simple fact that I didn’t know where to start. I think we can all be grateful that I made the executive decision not to take us right back to the moment of my birth and whisk you through everything that has happened in the last thirty-seven years. But if not at the very beginning, then where best to jump in?

The answer that finally got me to sit down and start what I hope will become a series of love letters between us was this: ‘start where you are’.

So where am I in this moment? Well, I actually find myself in a very confusing period of life just now. A period that really has me stuck in the mud, stranded from myself and, frankly, just flailing around a bit. In the last couple of years, I finished a tonne of really hard stuff and, now that I’m out on the other side, I’ve got absolutely no clue what to do next. Another damned blank page.

As you can imagine, trying to take any step forward from this place feels precarious. Will I wiggle myself free or will I get bogged down even further? In recent years, I’ve become so preoccupied with the peril of the first step that I have instead just stayed completely still. Every time I thought of making a change, big or small, it became so imbued with fear that I couldn’t bring myself to act at all.

But there’s always a turning point: when the fear of change becomes outweighed by the fear of not changing at all. And that’s where you find me right now. In the liminal space, the soup, the goop, the compost - the in-betweenness of knowing that where I’ve come from isn’t going to get me to where I’m going. The infuriating journey of learning to trust my own guidance, to not be driven off course or tempted by the path of other people. The confusion and concern of having to draw the map myself and be my own compass (Me! A person who is capable of getting lost inside a building!)

And I hate it

My instinct is to hide my work-in-progress from you and, instead, emerge fully-formed and perfect at the end, preferably bursting out of a giant cake. Instead, you’re joining me at this weird, messy moment and you’re witnessing me take a tentative step forward toward the person I want to be and the life I want to have. In writing, I hope that I can give myself something to hold onto or offer myself a thread that I can follow back to myself. In writing publicly, I hope I can give you something to hold onto or offer you a thread that you can follow back to yourself.

Everything we do in this life is a conversation. Whether that’s with a loved one, with a therapist, with the abandoned parts of ourselves, with our fear, our joy. I mean for this post, and the ones that will follow it, to be just one of the many conversations in your life. So let me ask you, friend, where do I find you in this moment?