30 Days

When I am 90 years old with saggy tattooed skin and missing teeth and I'm hunched over in my bright green pleather armchair, I want to be able to look back onto my life and have peace.

There are a lot of elements that play together to create peace in my life, but there is one specific thing that birthed this post today: I would be filled with regret if I got to the age of ninety and hadn't even attempted to write and publish something. Maybe I'm dreaming, and really?...this is what makes this quest all the more urgent. A "to do" list is watered-down with practicality while a dream has fertile potency. Let's get knocked up, shall we?

I decided that I would spend the next 30 days writing something every single day. I've had lofty plans of doing this before but without the accountability of others, my writing slips down the ladder of priorities, doing the backstroke in the puddle of practical to-do lists.

I'm also afraid of being transparent on here. I'm scared of offending people with my language and ideas. I worry about judgement. I fuss about saying too much, of hurting people. But I know that when I question my motives for my writing, I always conclude that I want to do it to create community, not discord.

I want, in my fantasmical Land of Nauseatingly Optimistic Suzy, to be able to share my heart and help people in some form, in some capacity. That by sharing my stories, my life, my heart, that I could bring people together. That our bellies would be full, our cheeks would be warm, and that at the end of the day we would remember that we aren't alone.

If 30 days is the gestational period of something bigger, then bring it on. And if all this quest produces is a small form of entertainment layered in shy transparency and topped off with a sprinkle of foul language, then at least I know that I stepped out. Because there's nothing comfier than sinking into a bright green pleather armchair, free from the nagging discomfort of regret.