It’s been one year since I started in a Pinch.
1 year, 98,000 words, 96 blog posts, 6.6 hours of reading time, and an infinite amount of love for this little platform of mine.
A year ago today I was tucked away in my bedroom, double and triple checking that my website was error-free and that the first three posts I was debuting on my blog were clear and concise.
I was SO nervous to announce that in a Pinch was up and running but also SO excited to have a space where I could post whatever the heck I wanted to.
I was nervous because I was actively inviting people into my most inner thoughts and opening up in a way I had never done before. I was nervous that I’d unintentionally say something that would offend someone or was taken way out of context. I was nervous for a ton of reasons.
I was also excited to share my content and connect with people. I was excited to write on a consistent basis and keep myself accountable. I was excited for the potential to share an idea that would help validate someone else. Even though I was nervous in the moments leading up to the debut, I was way more excited.
I remember texting the URL of my blog to my friends and then posting it on my Instagram and Facebook page and just thinking, “Well, here the hell goes nothing.”
The best thing about starting from scratch is that you have an entire journey ahead of you. It may be scary, and it may make you feel uneasy at times, but baby, that is where the growth is.
When you start doing what makes you happy, when you start showing your truest colors and forget about painting from a restricted palette, that’s when you start making masterpieces.
Not everyone is going to visit your museum and find beauty in each exhibit, but the people who need what you do will stumble upon your art and find value in what you produce. So, do not be afraid to tack your masterpieces up on the wall and sign your name on each frame. If people waltz in and criticize your work, thank them for coming in the first place, and then show them the exit.
This world is filled with too many people who want and need what you have to offer to get caught up in the angry, jaded naysayers.
Before I launched my blog, I had a recurring nightmare that someone would take what I say, blow it up on a billboard, and everyone who drove by would laugh at it.
But I also constantly thought (and still think) about the time I wrote a long post on Facebook (this was pre-blog days) and a woman, a woman much older and more life-experienced than me, reached out and told me that what I had written touched her a way that made her a little bit better of a person.
In that moment, I told myself that not living my truth was not only doing myself a disservice, it was doing other people a disservice, as well. And that is when I decided that if I have the ability to change even one person’s perspective, I cannot keep my love for this art to myself.
So this anniversary is not just about how many blog posts I’ve written or how many words I’ve strung together. This anniversary is about thinking of all the things that could’ve possibly gone wrong with putting myself out there and then doing it anyway.
If you are reading this right now, I want you to take one step toward your goal. Contact that person you’re afraid to reach out to. Say yes to that opportunity you’ve been avoiding. Buy that piece of equipment that will elevate your game. Literally, just go for it. This time and these days are not coming back. There will be people who doubt you and want to steer you off course— that’s not an “if”, just a “when”— but you have to realize that this life is yours and if you don’t live it for you, you’ll end up living it for someone else.
A year from now your life can look so different from what it does today. If you do not enjoy where you are and what you’re doing, please— please— know that you do not have to stay there. It will take a lot of work to change, but there is always a way out. Always.
I promise you that what you want is right over that hump. Believe in yourself, and take that leap of faith.
Before I end off this post, I’ll leave you with a poem I wrote, inspired by someone who once told me that in the writing world (whatever that is), “Only the best of the best make it.”
well maybe,
maybe
it’s just not in me
maybe they were right in saying
fall in line
join us like a nobody
one time I heard
it only happens for the best of the best
so i packed all my bags
and headed out west
there are times i forget this is my life to live
that fine China is hand-painted and plastic makes sieve
we have to stop squashing the dreams of the youth
the line for the nobodies is backed up past the booth
so instead of believing that it’s just not in you
engrave best on your body and tell them who they’re talking to
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