I’ve written years’ worth of travel notes that are now lost, scattered across broken hard drives and scrawled in notebooks covered in tea stains, stuffed down the sides of beds in countries I no longer live in. And while I can happily write 3,000 word articles in a client’s name, self-consciousness has left me too afraid to publish my own personal thoughts. Sometimes I feel lifeless as a fly in amber.
No more. I’ll be publishing my own notes and stories over the next 30 days.
After all, in the words of Murakami, “In a hundred years everybody here, me included, will have disappeared from the face of the earth and turned to ashes and dust.” So what’s the point in being shy, right?
Crippled by self-consciousness too? Come join me!