I’m 15 days into this advent calendar, and the anxieties of blogging have set in. That’s the way it goes, isn’t it?

One part of me worries that everything I write online is simultaneously derivative, boring, offensive, and mind-numbing. After every sentence I write I wish I could tack an asterisk and the disclaimer “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I meant for that to be more meaningful than it is.” It’s like hearing your voice on videotape; it never sounds as good as it does in your head.*

The other part of me says that the only way to get where I want to go is to keep going.

Where do I want to go? Did I tell you?

More than a decade ago I decided that my life goal is to write a book that 10,000 people will read. I still have that life goal. I know the exact feeling I want the reader to have as they read it, I know a range for how long it will be, I know it will be non-fiction, I know it will be about religion and philosophy. I think I even know the exact topic and what my main point will be. In other words, I’m getting close to visualizing it.

Lately I’ve been feeling an amplified sense that I need to start writing the book. Thus this advent calendar. Everyday I have been reminded that I need to do something real. Soon, just in case. Occasionally in these posts I’ve even seen glimpses of what the book will be.

I’ve also started a journal of letters to my son, Leo, telling him what has been top of mind. I consistently feel a sense of urgency to leave something worthwhile behind, and that is beautiful.

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*I’m sorry, I meant for that to be more meaningful than it is.