There are a lot of things I used to love doing. I was fairly good at most sports: football, baseball, softball, basketball, volleyball. I learned to ski when I was quite young. I could snowboard (side note: today marks the 21st anniversary of when I tried to teach myself to snowboard, and broke both bones in my left arm. I got much better at snowboarding the next year.) I played clarinet, saxophone, french horn, tympani, learned passable piano, and I could sing. I did half marathons and triathlons, I painted. I built furniture.

Ask me to do any of these things right now, and I would, at best, hesitate. I might even decline to participate.

I was never amazing at any of these things, but there is a confidence that comes from doing, and I have lost that confidence.

I realized today that I’m starting to feel the same way about long-form writing. I know I *can* do it, but it’s been so long I’ve lost my confidence in being able to do it “right.” But does it matter if I do it right? Doesn’t it just matter that I do it at all?

There are many things on my list that I don’t miss much, but there are others that I do miss. What if I gave my permission to just “do” and not worry about “right”? How much more fun would life be if I didn’t turn everything into a competition. Isn’t that the whole idea behind 10,000 hours?

In the words of Macklemore:

This is dedication
A life lived for art is never a life wasted
Ten thousand

Ten thousand hours felt like ten thousand hands
Ten thousands hands, they carry me
Ten thousand hours felt like ten thousand hands
Ten thousands hands, they carry me

Now, now, now
This is my world, this is my arena
The TV told me something different I didn’t believe it
I stand here in front of you today all because of an idea
I could be who I wanted if I could see my potential
And I know that one day I’mma be him
Put the gloves on, sparring with my ego
Everyone’s greatest obstacle, I beat ’em
Celebrate that achievement