Wrangler Dani

I promised myself that this year, 2013, I would write every day for me. I write every day, but it’s usually a blur of editorial notes or marketing copy or social media updates – enjoyable, but not soul-feeding, exactly.

So now I’m at every writer’s doomsday, the crucible by which the wanna-bes are distinguished from the published, the dreamers from the doers. It’s the summit – the challenge that requires cramp-ons, an ice axe and guts, not just hiking boots and hearty lungs. It’s not that it’s better than the easy hills of before, it’s just that it’s the logical next step. One of these days, if I really want to grow, I’m going to need to gear up and actually conquer this bad boy. Am I courageous enough to write more than I really want to, more than feels good, more than I feel confident about? It’s completely lame how often I doubt myself and how I stop and start in this journey – I find a mentor who believes in me or feedback that’s positive and I only half believe it, forcing the kind soul who gave me encouragement to carry my load instead, an impossible ask, even for the kind Sherpas who want to help me reach the top. No, I have to make this climb, and I have to will this on my own. Others may encourage, help and advise, but my feet must move ever higher if I really want to summit.

I blush to think of the time I have not spent on this project, of the words and that swirl and fight for supremacy in my mind without making it on paper. I know that there’s only one way out, but it is the hardest way – it’s the climb-over-Everest-to-get-to-the-grocery-store way.

Everybody is posting “best-of” lists for 2012, but my mind is too full of 2013 for that. It’s not that I’m discontented, I’m energized, ready, trained-up and eager to lose my insecurities and my self-doubts as a climber sheds his layers as he sweats. The sweat, the work, the bumpy ride are all making me new, and I will not waste this newness on more lazy insecurity.

2013 is not just the year of writing (every year is that) – it’s the year of writing without constantly looking over my shoulder, second-guessing my last paragraph or my previous decisions. It’s the year of one foot in front of the other. Of climbing.