I’ve been advised by my brain trust that I should just get the first post over with and acknowledge that it won’t be perfect. This is a lesson that I’m condemned to learn and learn again throughout my life.

I used to be precious with my notebooks, perhaps because I couldn’t help but imagine their “finished” state. I wanted my notebooks to be structured and purposeful, like a book. I didn’t like writing in pen because it was permanent. It kept me from using them like the tools they are.

Years after I finished school, I bought a fancy Moleskine notebook to capture my thoughts. With my previous experiences in mind, I immediately wrote on the first page. It was a regrettable entry, badly written on purpose, a spit in the face of perfectionism.

The notebook couldn’t possibly be perfect with that dumb entry right in the front, written in pen. It gave me the freedom to fill the notebook with shopping lists and doodles and half-baked thoughts (indeed, my notebook was the designated location for those thoughts to “bake”), and it served as a constant reminder not to write my story before I lived it. I still cringe when I read that entry, but I’ve come to appreciate it.

So I’ve banged this out to do the same. Before I break the ice to you, dear reader, I must break the ice for myself.