Off The Rails - The Simple Trick of Starting

     Consistency. It’s difficult, but important. What better place to address it than now. After all, one purpose for this blog is to practice this very thing, and I have been struggling to get “pen to paper,” as it were, this last month.

So let’s gain some momentum back here with another “Off the Rails” blog-post. Remember, these ones are potentially messy - improvised stream-of-consciousness with only a little post-destruction cleanup. (I mean, we can’t just leave those dead bodies lying around, can we?) An abundance of mixed metaphors, disjointed thoughts and loose ends will likely occur.

Now that I’ve pleaded for your mercy, made a rather morbid joke, and covered my tracks a little, let’s proceed to derail this “Thought Train.”

     Writing can be… difficult at times. On the best days, the blank page screams inspiration and potential, and it doesn’t remain blank for long. In fact, the writing on these days is like a perfect storm, invoked by a combination of inspiration, epiphany, and urgency – I rush to whatever closest device will make words and start spewing forth the sentences, even as I look down at the page and wonder, “who the frig is actually writing?” I’m just a passenger, watching the thing happen with no control.

     And on other days, the blank page is a looming tunnel with no end, leading to nowhere, promising only the pain of crawling on gravel, until cramps and cuts and fatigue show up to mock the futility of the effort. Each word is hard fought in its creation, only to be grudgingly erased a moment later.

Why the hell do I do this?

     I’d like to say it’s not that bad, but sometimes it truly is. (Can of worms: writer’s block, and the false stigma of the term…) Anyone aspiring to write is better served knowing this is part of the landscape. In the mind, the battle can appear as grim as I have described – despair looms at the precipice, ready to amplify the already monumental task of “getting those damned words down.”

     And the longer that page stays blank, the harder it gets to mark it. Each day without writing widens the chasm a little more, until it seems impossible to cross. Soon the far side disappears from sight and the chasm simply represents the end of the world. The task of writing becomes a myth, a thing that only the heroes of times long past, in lands far away, can perform.

     But it is an illusion.

     The bridge that crosses the chasm is merely unseen. A single step forward over the edge reveals this to be true. Suddenly the illusion is dispelled. The chasm closes until it is but a crack in the earth, able to be cleared with a single, playful hop.

     Then onward we go, each step forward adding momentum to the last, pulling us further into the single-minded task of “getting those damned words down.” That glorious storm rolls over the horizon, promising chaos and energy and danger. The thrill returns, and we march forward to meet the madness with new resolve, grinning.

     There is lightning to catch.

…

     Perhaps I should’ve ended it there. But this is an off-the-rails blog-post and I can’t stop the train from crashing now. There is too much momentum in the tips of my fingers. Which brings us back to consistency.

     Consistency builds momentum. Momentum breeds consistency.

     It’s the oldest wisdom in the book. We know this in all the important things we do – from cleaning the house, to exercise, to starting our tax return. The trick is simply to start. Everything else begins to take shape from that point. And no amount of planning, even those best-laid, can outmatch the power of that simple trick.

     It is like the infinite difference between zero and one – everything at zero is simply potential waiting to be realised.

     For some, starting is not a problem. Such individuals have my admiration. For them, planning is indeed a great and necessary tool to acquire, as it just might help them to avoid the otherwise inevitable hazards sure to plague their path.

     I, however, am more likely to become lost in the conjurings of my mind’s eye, until I forget that they are but the potential of a thing; an illusion pretending to be a ‘one’ when it is in fact a ‘zero.’ For me, that simple trick of starting is everything.

     If you are a perfectionist, you understand this. You see the flawless object you want to create so vividly in your mind, only to be met with disappointment, as your efforts crash against the towering wall of expectation you have built.

     Thus, hopes dashed, you slow down and ruminate. And you reconjure that perfection again in your mind, hoping to receive revelation about it, hoping to bring it into existence with thought alone. This, of course, only fortifies those walls further, and makes realisation that much harder to obtain.

     Now the momentum is gone, and you have stopped again. All that’s left is a too-high wall, tired muscles and disenchantment.

     If it isn’t a matter of perfection, perhaps it’s a matter of motivation, or self-esteem, or depression. All things have a varying degree of traction, and it doesn’t take much for such things to take hold and start sapping away our precious momentum.

     But that simple trick will keep us moving. No matter how many thoughts try to convince you otherwise, no matter how many illusory walls try to hold you in place, it is always a matter of lifting one metaphorical foot up and putting it forward.

Don’t forget that old wisdom. Keep that simple trick in you front pocket, brand it on your home screen, tattoo it on your prefrontal cortex.

     Simply start, and the rest will follow.

     (To be continued, as I have a lot more to say on this topic, but feel this is where this piece had to end. Them’s the breaks. Also, I feel like doing a sequel.)