My friend Chloe threw up a Twitter thread this morning about trying to learn to dive as an 8-year-old (something I also spent many early years terrified of doing).
I’ve never forgotten the professor on my orals board who listened to all the questions and considerations I’d thrown into coming up with my thesis concept before asking
“Do you really have to go through this orgy of anxiety before you’re able to begin any creative project?”
GOD, IT MADE ME MAD.
Of course I worry about this all the time. WE ALL WORRY ABOUT THIS ALL THE TIME. But if I’m worrying at something, claws sunk into a paradox that feels irresolvable and keeps me up at night and makes me hold up the line time and time again, tears streaming down my face because I want to do it and I know I can and I want to and I can if I just stand there a little longer I’ll get there I know it—
That’s how I know I’m on the right track.
“Dove in, sobbing. Came out laughing.”
It’s hard right up until the moment it becomes simple. I don’t think anyone’s ever done a better job articulating how I get things done.
[Just realized I wrote what amounts to another version of the same blog post two years ago, except it’s got more Ghost Rider in it. Go figure.]