To me, driving is proof that I can learn new things.

My parents have never gotten their driving licenses, let alone bought a car, so growing up, I didn’t know any better than going everywhere by public transport.

When I was eighteen, I had driving lessons with my uncle, who owned a driving school. The day after my first lesson, I could barely walk, that’s how sore my muscles were from the constant tension. The responsibility was almost unbearable. The weeks after getting my first car (and not having driven for ten years), I’d constantly be on the verge of crying while J sat next to me for moral support.

Fast forward three months, and I really enjoyed driving. I still do. It feels like it’s one of the few ways to quiet my mind, because it requires a certain amount of focus to stay safe, but it also leaves enough room for my thoughts to come and go aimlessly.

It feels good to know that I can learn new things. That something so terrifying can become so enjoyable.

I bleed with the full moon. The internet tells me that this is called a red moon cycle, and that women who experience this cycle have traditionally been thought to be healers or medicine women, partly because they can take care of the women who have their periods during new moon. The red moon cycle is also associated with creating in a different realm, rather than having children.

I felt good today. For the first time in weeks, I sang out loud in my car, feeling all kinds of things. Things are shifting and I am creating.

I don’t think I’m meant to write fiction. I tried, but I don’t derive joy out of it. Over the years, I wondered whether I’d get better at it if I took courses, or masterclasses, or… But it just feels counter-intuitive. Sometimes, it feels like I have to work too hard. And it’s not that I don’t like working hard, it’s just that I’m not sure whether a creative process should be like that.

Maybe for some people, yes. Some people can work on one particular project for years, spending months perfecting it, being close to quitting it altogether multiple times in the process.

When I write poetry, but also when I blog, it pours out of me. It’s more stream-of-consciousness-like. Not always an accurate depiction of events, but almost always an accurate expression of feelings, I’d say. And I’ve found that writing fiction requires too much thinking from my part, whereas I just want to express.

Maybe inaccurate writing reflects my feelings of inaccuracy accurately.

I like having a private space online that no one knows about. I feel like I don’t have to overthink my words, and whether “like” is sloppy writing, and if it should be “enjoy” or anything else. It’s like a pet that accepts you no matter what, as long as you keep feeding it.

I should’ve done this earlier.

For years, I have tried to write down the story that needs to get out. Subconsciously, I was thinking too much about “being a writer” (and asking myself: is this how writers do it?) and “getting published” (and asking myself: is this what a publisher would like to see? Would an audience find this compelling? Should I publish under my own name or a pseudonym?).

I kept going back to my Word document, then Scrivener file, then LibreOffice doc, until my project became this big thing in my head. I gave myself deadlines and ignored them, paralyzed by the idea that I would eventually have to deliver.

I don’t want to overthink irrelevant questions. I just want to write. I want to flow, to create, to express. And this week, I realized that a blog suits me way better than the formal process of Writing A Book.

I want to write excerpts and publish them right away, on my own terms. I don’t want to make concessions, or give up any kind of freedom. I want to experience the mini rush of hitting the publish button, because I’m wired like that.

I don’t want to create for an audience, but I want my work to be visible for whoever stumbles upon it. I don’t want to feel bad about starting nearly every paragraph with “I”. It’s my blog, my personal and digital and maybe even sacred space. I also don’t feel any need to share my blog with friends or family – in fact, I’d prefer to be anonymous, so I can publish freely without wondering whether the things I write are consistent with the image that others have of me.

I’ve had several blogs since I was a child, and I’ve always loved the concept of writing on the go, sharing whatever is on my mind, rather than endlessly revisiting a draft and striving for perfection.

I want to live as an artist. To me, that entails creating art and sharing it without pursuing any goals in doing so, free from any judgement. I want to live creatively.

I’m ready to start.