NaNoWriMo was always one of those things I wanted to do with all my heart, with all my conviction but I never got around to doing it.
It wasn’t because I couldn’t sit myself still long enough to crank the words out, I just couldn’t commit myself to a plot, a storyline, a set of characters, or anything that remotely resembled a novel. My thoughts were intense, focused and scattered. My words were powerful, intentional and sometimes dangling off cliffs.
When I realized it was the first Monday of November I thought a few things:
- I’m gonna kill this month.
- Can’t miss a Monday workout.
- Isn’t it NaNoWriMo?
I haven’t thought about NaNoWriMo in years. I’ve tossed it aside as I’ve tossed aside a lot of writing and ambitions over the years. But it seems that a part of me is stepping into the light, dusting off forgotten things, and turning “I can’t”s into “I absolutely fucking can”‘s. One of the best parts about getting older is that I’ve been torched with confidence and self-assuredness. I still have tremendous fears but I don’t allow them to hold me back. I’m always struck with the fear of what I want to write versus what I think I should write, what this blog should be versus what this blog shouldn’t be.
Maybe it’s the start of a new month, and reminder of Nanowrimo. Maybe it’s this sunny morning and the prospect of a great breakfast ahead of me. Maybe it’s because I’ve come to see vulnerability as a sexy, beautiful, brave thing. Maybe it’s this pre-workout and this comfy t-shirt but I’m ready to step into the light. I’m ready to write.