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Beginnings are always hard and intimidating. I always get the feeling that I’m starting everything all over again, which is not wrong. 2020 has been a rough year for everyone involved, and has left us tired and yearning for meaning, if I may indulge in this already overused cliché. So I thought, hey, I can write, why not start a blog ?

Seconds later, a few problems arose. How legitimate am I ? What if I’m just bad at it ? How do you actually do the writing bit ? How does a blog work ? I got overwhelmed at the mountains of anxiety the very idea of picking up a pen induced. I don’t know what I’m doing or where I’m going with my life. But, when I looked at my reflection in the mirror, I gave it a pep talk to pick myself up and to stir up the pyres of passion in my heart. Unfortunately, this did not work.

You see, I am terrified of being vulnerable, of sharing anything about me, of saying stuff about what I think. So doing all of that, and posting it online, feels like a herculean task. Besides, what could I possibly have to say ? I’m queer, tired, a little narcissistic, and, not unlike a few of my (literary and other) icons, I’m an insufferable know-it-all. But if I don’t talk about myself, who will ?

So I’m throwing my own fears in a pit. It’s a blog, probably not something that is going to save the world. I may not know what I’m doing, but, sure as hell, no one is going to stop me from doing it. Moreover, trying new things is good for the soul, apparently (I highly doubt it). I can’t promise I won’t get involved in hogwash debates and things of no importance whatsoever, but if you take my hand, we’re in for a hell of a ride. I don’t know if my words are the best, if I’ll be good at it, or even how any of this works. I’m just going to dive deep into the unknown. I’ll embrace that brilliant and wonderful chaos that is this very existence. Let’s do this.