"I can do that."

I wouldn’t call myself a confident person, but I frequently find those words running through my head. I’ll often see a new recipe, a cute DIY project, or some other adventure that seems doable and give it a try--without always considering my actual abilities. I once reupholstered a chair; I don’t sew. I’ve hiked in Peru without having camped or hiked more than five miles in a day prior to the trip. I once made gnocchi from scratch. 

None of that was easy; parts were thrilling. I even learned some things about myself, like how buying a new chair is doable too. To this day I can recall what didn’t go quite right and where the flaws are, so I have to remind myself that the point is that I tried and followed through with something new. 

Now I’m writing a blog. But this time the words I’m hearing are CAN I do that? 

In a world where there seem to be many talkers and so few listeners, why on earth would I want to add to the noise? Legit question. To answer it, I keep returning to this quote by Joan Didion: 

I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.

In a nutshell, writing helps me sort through and make sense of the world. Or try to, at least. Writing slows me down long enough to read and think and wonder. Writing makes it hard to blurt out a less-than-fully-formed opinion. (I’m an expert blurter, by the way). The same thought typed is read and re-read. It’s gnawed over, reshaped, and possibly deleted altogether. This filter may or may not be appealing. I imagine it’ll evolve as I go (see “read and think and wonder” above). I hope so.

In this space I’ll share thoughts on writing, learning, and life—with lots of questions and maybe a few answers based on what I’ve learned over the years. I hope to add to the discussion, not subtract. And if my words aren’t interesting or useful they should at least be brief.

See you soon.