It's been well over a month since I wrote anything (like a real anything -- not jobs or school or because a deadline was approaching) more than a few sentences. I'm not blocked, really; mostly there just hasn't been time. But when there has been time, a few pockets of it in surprising places, I've been... paralysed.
I know that I don't know enough about writing. I know that I'm not good enough at writing. In the past this knowledge never stopped me from actually doing it. Lately, however, I seem to see more clearly the enormous gap between where I am now and where I hope to be. And it's this gap that looms up before me whenever I go to write. I wonder if maybe I should just live more of life before I even try -- but I am not happy simply doing that, either.
I know the answer to my own unspoken questions: time. Time teaches. Time offers new experiences. Time is an apprenticeship. I know this, but sometimes it helps to type it out loud.
Time takes time.