It’s always been easy for me to take baby steps when it comes to physical activity, because I have never thought of myself as having any gifts in that realm. Any progress I can make is a surprise.
I treat artistic pursuits like writing with no such sanity. I think I should be able to, after a decade of doing little more than grocery list writing, sit down and pen a novel without breaking a sweat.
And the reality of plotless stories and false starts makes me want to hide. Yet the only way to get better at anything is to accept that you will be bad at it for a long time.