It’s 22 degrees Fahrenheit (but feels like 7) and I’m heading home right before it starts snowing (hopefully). We’re expecting two inches.
I’ve had to start leaving for my bus stop five minutes earlier than usual because that’s how long it takes me to layer on my winter gear. I missed my bus by barely a minute three days last week because I wasn’t factoring in the time it takes to zip, button, and tie a jacket, a coat, and snow boots; tug on my gloves; and pull my hat down over my forehead.
I’m in a slow-zone at work and it’s hard for me to maintain my typical level of focus. I can feel each minute slowly passing by. I’m working steadily, but I don’t have my beautiful rush of adrenaline, which I probably depend on a bit too heavily at times. [Emergencies are my specialty.]
Here in the slow zone, my introversion creeps out from its normally air-tight prison cell. Today, while walking back from the microwave with a slightly burnt miniature bag of Kettle Corn, I was caught mid-thought by an introduction that went well enough, except that I did not say my own name back to the introduction-initiator. I did, however, say “nice to meet you” and smile, which is just going to have to be good enough. I’m not running for office (at the moment, at least).
Writing about work makes me nervous because the internet is public.
Writing in general makes me nervous too.
When I write here it’s like writing a quick email to a friend, and as long as it isn’t a topic that might get dicey (relationships, politics, etc.) I can write uninhibited. When I think about writing elsewhere, such as a guest post or an article or something with my real name attached to it, I get a little panicky. I don’t want my writing to be flippant or without substance, yet I’m afraid of being too serious because my expertise on everything is limited.
My greatest fear is writing something that ruins my credibility. I am learning well from writers who can say “last week I thought X, but after learning Y I’ve changed my position to this-that-and-the-other.” That’s the approach I would like to use when writing, but instead I go through stages of publishing remorse that usually starts with “wow I’m the worst I’ve ruined everything forever oh my gosh why oh why oh why did I do that.” Then about three hours later (or maybe twelve) I’m back to “it probably doesn’t matter because no one really reads what I write anyway.” And then maybe three days later, if I still even remember the subject matter at all, I might be able to say “last week I thought X, but then I realized how stupid I was and so now I think I might think Y, but I can’t really be certain in Y because we all know what happened last week.”
NOTE: I thought about adding in some italics or brackets or mixing up the font in this so that it would seem “artistic” instead of “ridiculous,” but let’s be real for a second. I already bolded my font three times.