Just Write Nik

I judge my writing. Every day. Am I descriptive enough, engaging enough, raw enough, polished enough? That sentence is poorly worded. Do I sound like a douche? Do I even have a voice?

Who is reading this? Does any of this time and energy amount to anything valuable? 

I want to be a good writer. I want to share my life experience. I want to help people avoid mental and emotional traps, know they are loved, and continue to chase their greatness. So…I’m in the right place. Right? 

The point, I believe, is to keep going. Where will I be in a year if I write everyday for a year? It’s good to process like this- hidden in the open. 

I detest the phrase “s/he is a born (fill in the blank.)” I think that’s bullshit. I reckon some people are born with certain genetic attributes which make them more suitable for a task than others. I do not deny this fact. But what if Lebron James had grown up in a house without sports? What if his mother had given him books about computers and software languages? 

Maybe I’m not born to write, and maybe I am. Maybe this is the process of going from shit to gold. I’m indifferent to what I lack at this stage in life. I’m only interested in what brings me life, what sits well in my heart. 

My real problem with writing is the public response. There’s the truth. 

I reckon the only was to get somewhere is keep moving. Keep writing Nik.