How it can be so difficult to put words, or brush strokes, or pencil marks, onto a blank page is a mystery to me. Taking the action to start any activity of relevance in one’s life is one thing that does not seem to get easier with practice.
It is certainly true for me that the hardest thing to do is put the first words down, or lay the first fibres out, or make the first pencil mark on that too-clean, pristine white page. Doesn’t matter what activity it is, the starting point is a hangup. Even though I’ve conquered thousands of previous starts this is still the case. And the level of difficulty with starting looms ever larger whenever I leave a significant gap between writing one article, or making one piece of art, and the next. Left in the gap, the resistance grows thicker and heavier until the idea of making anything at all is shrouded in doubt and purposeful forgetting. Even if I manage to do other writing, starting the project that has been lying in wait is a near impossibility.
Starts are so obscure. They are indistinct and vague and they are subject to certain deletion or remaking. They mirror real life a little too much, and like life, they require courageous rising up every single time in every single day.
This brief reflecting brings me around to sheep of all creatures, and to a solution that sounds a little like heaven to me. I know it works for them… when you do get going, just go ahead and graze, do not stop until satiated, and always begin again well before you feel empty. I believe the last part is key. If life would cooperate with such a schedule I’d be a happy camper indeed.