The more I read, the more my writing standard increases, and the more insecure I am in my ability to communicate. The clear, crisp writing in authors I admire paralyses me; it reveals the flaws in my craft and sets an impossibly high bar for what is acceptable. I worry that my words are poorly chosen, that my sentences lack elegance, that my paragraphs fail to construe and capture an idea.

Frankly, if I hadn’t made this blog and journalling a habit, I’d probably be too intimidated to write at all. When I read my old posts, ones I was proud of at the time, the grammar errors, vague ideas, and imprecise language now scream out at me. Knowing that my current writing standard will be under the same level of scrutiny in the future is humiliating. Maybe it is best to avoid all this.

But of course, with any pursuit, we all begin on a spectrum of mediocre to utter garbage, and it is only through repetition and reflection that we improve. It’s what any good parent tells their child, any good teacher tells their student, any good friend tells another: find something worthwhile, and do it over and over and over again until you suck a little less, and eventually, after some effort, you might achieve some level of competence.

And when it comes to worthwhile pursuits, learning to communicate, and developing a mastery over words, is right near the top of my list.