Somebody started walking again after being in a bit of a funk, and posted about it in a walking forum. Thirty-six people liked it.
Two sentences. The road had no sidewalk, so they walked on the shoulder, and they said so: it's scary. And then, in the very next breath: it was so beautiful out.
Both. One post. Neither one cancelled the other.
They didn't wait for a safer road. They didn't wait to feel ready, or for the funk to lift first. They walked on the edge of it, scared, and it was beautiful, and they wrote both down.
You've been waiting for the version where it isn't scary. The feeling you want to start from. It doesn't come first. It shows up at the edge, in the same sentence as the fear, and if you only count the walks that felt safe, you'll count none.
The one thing:
Name the thing you're waiting to feel safe enough to start.
Then say the scary part and the beautiful part in one sentence, the way they did.
Josh
P.S. I finished my 30-day Ash Journal run on July 30. In public, one page a day, no edits, all thirty.
Five minutes. One prompt. One line of ash. The first seven days are free: truevitalyou.com/journal
P.P.S. Know a guy who'd tell you he's fine? Forward him this one.