19 September 2017
Worried this is all too easy
I remember once when I was about ten, a few friends and I were hanging out in the park playing football. It was the school holidays, a lovely summer's day - not too hot, not too cold.
On the opposite end of the field emerged another group of friends who were also knocking a ball about. They were a good few years younger than us. Now, when a group of lads turns up at the park and they have a football it always meant we'd have a match. I say 'match' but I mean 'game'. These pesky kids are no match for us.
You see, when you're that age it's a given that you're a better player simply because you're older. Bigger, stronger, more experienced. But these kids aren't completely stupid; they know they're in for a thrashing.
Actually, we had no intention of thrashing them. We were hell-bent on utter domination. We were gonna make at least one of them cry. Probably the ginger. I had a plan to force their best striker to score a hatrick of own goals. We were Manchester United. They were a Cornwall-based Sunday league side.
I'm not sure how we convinced them to play us. Probably threatened to tell everyone at school they still wet the bed or something.
So we start the game and it pretty much goes down the way I described above. We command and conquer.
For about five minutes.
Turns out that it just wasn't that fun. The lack of a challenge just made it too easy. We knew the result before we even began. Sure, our egos took a quick boost, but that's all.
And that's what I worry about - not just with daily blogging - but writing as a whole. This is not a boast in any way, but I'm finding it easy. Too easy, almost, and I'm nervous.
I've always wanted to write. I spent years thinking about what I could write. I've read books on writing. I've listened to countless podcasts and interviews with writers about writing, and for years it's been drummed into my skull how hard writing is. How painful it is. How you have to not only catch, but serenade your muse and treat it like a lover.
So imagine my surprise when I find words flowing out of me, a near endless supply of things to write about, and no writer's block to speak of.
As I found out in that football game all those years ago, easy is not a place where you want to be. It breeds complacency, reeks of stagnation and is a lovely, warm hiding place.
So, I need to take a long, hard look in the mirror. Am I finding this easy because I'm not pushing myself? Because, actually, my writing is flat and boring? Do I need to try harder to make my writing sing from the rooftops? I certainly think so. Must try harder from now on.
And that begs the question: What else in my life is easy that shouldn't be? What easy paths am I taking out of fear?
What easy paths are you taking?