I think I’ve developed a fear of writing. It must have been a gradual development, for I’ve only just realised it. I have a million ideas, but there’s a million other things going on in my head that have got in the way. Most of these things have to do with me thinking and caring too much about what everyone thinks and cares about. And the more I think, the scarier writing becomes and for that reason I’m not writing as much. I’ve become conscious that everything I write begins with I, too. Who cares about I? You’ll tell me you do, but I’m telling you there are a million more important things than I. But the thing is, I’m comfortable talking about I because I is the only thing I know everything about. And I guess I’m scared to write about something I don’t know about because there will always be someone out there who knows more about whatever it is I don’t know. You know? And then there are all the things I do know a little something about but am too scared to write about for other sorts of reasons. Friends, family, mind, body: one day I’ll write about these things but that day isn’t yet. I will never be the sort of writer I want to be if I don’t overcome my fear of writing about these sorts of things. I am hugely envious – and that’s a trait I despise – of all the writers that write about sex or drugs or depression or love or whatever it is without caring what you think. I want to be that sort of writer. I will, but it will take time; a hurdle in this never-ending attainment of confidence. I’m a confident person but not a confident writer…yet…and while this all seems very negative it shouldn’t because essentially this is a post about hope and excitement and growth and all those other gooey things that make you roll your eyes but smile too. Admitting to this fear was kind of scary to do so I guess that’s a sort of start. Slowly, surely, I will write about all of these things but please be patient because it’s harder than it looks.