All beginnings burst from boldness.
Picture a baby stumbling forward on tiny chunky feet, arms flailing. Picture the first spring crocus poking its green head through persisting piles of unmelted snow. Picture baby birds unfurling wings they’ve never yet used, turning falling into flight.
It only happens because something deep inside, something biological, something stronger than fear, says, GO. YES. GO.
These are the things I thought about as I stared at my blinking cursor on this blank white page: all beginnings are likely to fail.
That child might quickly tumble to the floor in tears. That flower might freeze before it has a chance to bloom. That bird could hit the ground before it gets its mother’s worm. We all hit the ground eventually.
One of our best inborn survival skills is our easy amnesia about the ultimate falling. It’s our wobbly, unfounded faith that our sloppy starts will get us somewhere, regardless of the eventual collapse. And so, we go. We begin.