Letting the pen flow is a challenge whilst writing. I sit here now, contemplating such a thing, attempting to let the pen flow to write. Not quite a pen—it’s a keyboard actually—but at least something. My attempt to do this is to journal, again. To try writing every day, again.

I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve claimed I wanted to start writing regularly. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve mentioned blogs and journals and diaries and notebooks and writing on paper and writing online and looking for systems and—

The discussions go on. The procrastination is circular. A combination of waiting for the perfect opportunity to collide with the perfect system means that nothing ever happens. Even as I sit here now, writing to myself, I’m worried who may read this. I’m worried what may happen.

Performance anxiety? Stage fright? Of who? Myself?

Such a strange situation, especially when I can confidently say I’m not interested in other people’s opinions. I care, of course I care. I care as much as everyone else does. But I’m not interested in the result of their opinion.

Anyway, I ramble now. I’ll leave this for another day.

One day, I will begin to talk about the things I’ve done. Until then, I’ll just talk around it.