As my fourth post, I feel that we’re beyond the’ Hi-I’m-Simon’ stage if this was a relationship. We’re at the point I’d not be shy to poop at your house or vice versa. (You, reader, are the female in this rapport.) So please, allow me to poop here today.
There’s always trying moments in any person’s life. Moments that require us to take that leap of faith. A leap into a pitch-black cesspit you’re fully incognizant of what lies beneath. It may be shit underneath; but you can only hope it’s good shit. All you know for certain is that you must take that leap to know what kips silently under that thick unfathomable darkness.
You need it, so you’ll never wonder, “And what’s inside that pit?” Also because you don’t want to become a bitter old chap who’s always grouchy at neighborhood kids whose balls (sport balls) always find their way to your porch.
So you shut your eyes, and you jump.
I shut my eyes and jumped when I started this blog. Hell yeah, it was scary at the time, but well worth it. Stats were above expectation, not good, just above expectation. (Lord knows I’d set the expectations lower than Lil Wayne sags his pants. Si we all do this to avoid ego-hurting experiences?) Here’s the scarier part though; the thought of it still makes me cringe…and my eyeballs twitch. I’m terrified that this writing thing is all a phase. That it’ll all pass like some strange cloud. Or adolescence. That writers’ block will catch up to me one bright Sunday morning when I wake up, and I’ll think, “To hell with it, I’m not cut out for this stuff.” And that will be the tragic end to a purportedly good story. I think the reason behind this sentiment lies behind the previous phases I’ve had. All frogs I’ve had to kiss before I found my prince charming (Relax, I’m straight). And I’ll tell you here and now, the frogs were many. I once thought I could sing; but my own parents (who should protect, love and lie to me when necessary) told me I sung atrociously. Like a frog. (See what I did there? With frogs?) I thought the same about acting. Be the Kenyan Leonardo DiCaprio and fly our flag high in Hollywood, right next to Kanye’s home. Needless to say, I was proven otherwise. I don’t talk (or write) about it. I get too emotional when it comes up *wipes a tear. All I say about it is, “Damn you Mr. Kioko! Damn you!” Hehe.
There’s a ravishing beauty behind it though; that it’s a self-discovery journey. A journey to get a line with who you are and what you really want. (I feel like a wise old sensei at this point). And I believe I did myself, with this blog.
Why? I’ll tell you why.
Every morning, I wake up thinking what my next post will be about. Sleep, thinking of how I can conclude it. Scruple every afternoon about how many people will read and enjoy it. After I’m done writing, I proof read it around 899652 times. And you can leave it all to my silly mind to take it a notch higher and dare dream. Dream of all the plush places these 900 words I type every Thursday will take me. All the overpriced diamond rings I’ll touch while shaking the hands of writing gods at The Tribe’s lobby. Dream of that moment I’m at Jeff’s, Jeff Koinange Live talking about my commercially successful blog: ‘feelingthegaps.com.’ And he’ll ask that usual interview question all journalists ask.
“So how did you begin writing, Simon?”
“I believed I could write so I jumped. I shut my eyes and jumped, Jeff.”
*drops mic and leaves The Bench* Hehe.
You know why this power to dream has been bestowed upon me? Because I shut my eyes and took that leap.
Soli Deo Gloria