When I started blogging again last month, my goal was to post every day for thirty days. Tonight would be my thirtieth post, except that I missed two days. The first time I had a headache, and the second time–last night–I stayed up until two in the morning finishing a work project. Not bad. So I’ll reach the goal a little late, but now I don’t doubt I’ll get there. (Cue the part where I knock on wood because I’m afraid I’ve jinxed myself.) And that’s a relief, because I’ve spent a lot of my life setting goals and then failing–usually right away–to meet them. Or not setting goals at all because I wasn’t quite sure which goals I wanted to set, or I only just thought of a goal I might want to set and immediately became overwhelmed.

I was hoping that by the end of the thirty days, writing wouldn’t feel so excruciatingly difficult, like I was trying to push a block of concrete up a hill. I’m not sure I would say it’s any less difficult now, though. What’s changed is that it no longer seems impossible. I’ll take that. Maybe it will always be this hard, but it will just keep feeling more and more possible. I think that would mean I’ve truly accepted that it might not ever get easier but that I can do it anyway.

I’m not quite ready to set a goal of acceptance yet, though. I’m too overwhelmed at the thought of it.