Everyone and Everything.

In 2013, I decided to be a writer.

Just to be clear, I didn't start writing this post three years ago. I just managed to find more excuses than things to write about since my decision.

In 2016, I decided to write.

The difference between the two is subtle but important. Three years ago, the idea of calling myself a writer was all I cared about. I opened a Best Buy credit card and bought a refurbished Chromebook dedicated to my work. I bought a Moleskine and a pack of Pentel Pilot G2’s I would carry with me to my local Starbucks. I bought enough coffee there to fill a swimming pool. I had the tools, atmosphere and caffeine required to write the next great american novel.

And I didn’t write a word.

Instead, I spent a lot of time staring at a blank screen. The thing about Google Docs is that the cursor blinks. Constantly. I suppose this was intended to be useful for writers to find quickly their place in a document. But for me, it was just a reminder of the words I haven’t written. When the taunting became overwhelming, I would turn off my Chromebook and switch to analog. Before long I would find my self staring at a blank notebook wondering how my handwriting could possibly add value to something already so perfect. (I’m kind of obsessed with notebooks.)

So there I was, a writer without words.

It took me a while to realize how misguided I was, and how little I’ve done since. Almost a thousand days later, the only things I have to show are this post and a few more blank Moleskines. Today, I decided that being a writer isn’t important to me anymore. Telling stories is. Even the one about 19 year old me and all of his notebooks.

The trick to finding ideas is to convince yourself that everyone, and everything, has a story to tell. — Malcolm Gladwell