The blinking cursor.
Dread, in pixels.
A white, empty page, waiting for brilliance.
Or is it?
SO many people have confided in me their deep wish to write a book.
And when I ask them ‘what’s the problem, why haven’t you started yet?’, they tell me about how hard it is, how big the project, how gigantic the task, and how unbridgeable the gap between the nothing of now, and the finished book of the future.
People don’t work very well when it comes to projects they can’t comprehend.
Writing a book is just too big.
Overcoming an addiction too much, too complex.
But those are never things you do in the first place.
You don’t write a book; you write a sentence.
You don’t change from an alcoholic to somebody who easily transcends the urge to drown uncomfortable feelings:
You just skip the first drink.
And then another one.
And the next one.
Projects and changes that challenge our imagination, easily suffocate our plans.
We can’t handle the vastness of our insecure projections.
We can’t get our head around the future result of change and patient efforts.
So you don’t conquer the blinking cursor by suddenly drowning it in pages of perfection.
You just start to type.
One word is enough.
One step is all it takes.