Once again I’m writing late at night, falling asleep at my keyboard, and with an early start tomorrow. This evening it’s because I got home from a ten hour work day and lay motionless on the sofa for an hour, and then went out to open-mic night at the folk club.
It was great to see people performing their music imperfectly, but with so much pleasure. And also fear. To see people showing up, and producing a lovely imperfect song, through the stage fright.
That’s the real reason I’m so often writing late at night, against the clock. Fear.
But I’ve showed up, and written, every single day this month. I’ve pressed publish on these imperfect posts, through the fear. For the same reason, I imagine, that most of those people were up on stage tonight. Just for the joy of making something, however mangled. And the joy of that something reaching somebody, in some way.
It’s been twenty-six days of posting every single day. Only four more to go. I’m exhausted. So I’ll be glad for a day off, come December. But I think I’ll miss this experiment too. I’ll miss the impetus to push through the uncertainty and fear, and try, however imperfectly, to create and connect.
I hope I can stay a bit braver, after this month, without losing so much sleep.
And so to bed.