I feel a little insane debuting a blog in the middle of 2012. The rise of the bloggers happened over a decade ago. In a world of tweets, instagram, and 1 sentence emails, asking people to read more than 3 sentences seems like a lot ask.

And I’m afraid. I’m afraid it won’t be that good. I’m afraid this won’t be worth 3 minutes of your time. I’m afraid that for all my talent, enthusiasm, and persistence, I might not make anything great.

Technology makes it really easy to peek at anyone’s life. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. But I think we need a little more than that. I don’t know about you but mindlessly clicking through profile pictures leaves me with a sad, sweaty film in my brain.

The truth is, I just want to be moved. I think everyone does. We want to be moved by the works of others. Sometimes, we need to be moved by what we make and do ourselves. But mostly, we just want to be moved.

So, I’m trying to let go of my safety blanket here. Being moved isn’t always about being inspired and feeling good. No one makes fun of the stuff I never show them but protecting it from imaginary mean feedback tastes an awful lot like failure.

Long before Rivers Cuomo took a swan dive from grace, he wrote this:

I’ve got electric guitar.
I play my stupid songs.
I write these stupid words.
And I love every one!
Waiting there for me. Yes, I do.
I do.

I almost cry every time I sing along to that. Making things I’m proud of is really hard for me. It’s hard. It can take a long time and a lot of work. But caring too much what other people think, wears me down and let’s me shrug my shoulders and convince myself I didn’t really care about making something awesome, did I?

And now is the part where I tell you I’ve learned my lesson. I’ve grown up. I’ll never do it again. But I will. And that’s okay. Because I wrote these stupid words. And I love every one. Yes, I do.