On April Fools’ Day, I started this blog without having a clue what I was doing.
Now, a few posts in, I still don’t.
But something funny is happening: some creative synapses are starting to fire.
Not big fireworks or bold visions—more like quiet sparks flickering in the background. Tiny connections. Familiar feelings I haven’t had in a while. And strangely enough, I think that means something is working.
The Blog About Not Knowing What the Blog Is About
Let’s start here:
At the moment, this blog is mostly me… writing about trying to figure out what this blog is.
Very meta.
Kind of silly.
Also, very me.
The initial thought was: I’d just start. Write without a name, niche, domain, plan, or purpose. And I’ve done that. But as soon as I published the first post, the wheels started turning.
Should I have a niche?
Isn’t that what you’re supposed to have when starting a blog?
But then I had this small rebellion in my head:
Why?
Why should I write about something difficult or performative when I could just write about something that’s… easy?
And the easiest thing to write about, really, is myself.
Not in a self-absorbed way (I hope), but in the sense that:
- I always have access to my own experience.
- I’m the only story I can truly write in full.
- And I seem to be endlessly curious about what I’m thinking and doing.
So maybe the niche is me. Or rather, the evolving process of becoming someone who creates, reflects, and documents—all while still figuring things out.
But Seriously, Why Publish This Publicly?
This blog could have easily stayed in a private notebook. It could have been a folder on my desktop labeled “thoughts” that never sees the light of day. So why post it for the world?
Because, deep down, I believe in the power of example.
Whether at work or in personal life, I’ve always tried to lead by doing—not preaching. And if writing openly about my false starts, half-shaped thoughts, or tiny creative wins gives even one other person permission to do the same, then it’s worth it.
Even if it’s just the idea of a first step. That’s already something.
We need more people starting things without waiting for them to be perfect.
We need more people trying stuff out in public.
And we definitely need more people embracing the idea that stopping is okay, too.
That’s part of what I’m trying to model here. Not a polished journey. Just a real one.
Ideas Are Cheap Until You Start
Another thought I keep coming back to:
Starting is the hardest part.
You can have the best idea in the world, the most detailed Notion board, the fanciest planning template—but until you actually start, it doesn’t mean anything.
That’s why I’ve stopped overvaluing ideas.
Ideas are fun. They feel good. But they’re also nothing without movement.
I’ve learned that execution—even clumsy, half-baked, spontaneous execution—is where things actually begin to matter.
Because once you start:
• You create momentum.
• You start seeing possibilities you couldn’t see from the idea stage.
• You begin reshaping the idea with new context.
And yes, it takes a lot of mental energy to push past that friction. Starting requires you to overcome resistance, perfectionism, and fear all at once.
But once you do, things start shifting. That’s what’s happening to me now, I think.
This blog is starting to take shape. I didn’t plan for a shape—but it’s slowly forming around the idea that starting can be its own destination.
The Blog Is in the “Forming” Stage
If I were to borrow a model from group development, I’d say this blog is in the forming stage.
Still figuring out its identity.
No clear structure or norms yet.
Definitely no conflict (except the internal one between “should I have a niche?” and “nah, just write”).
But that’s fine. Forming is where things begin. And the good thing about forming is that it comes with full permission to pivot.
This applies not just to the blog, but also to me as the main character of the blog.
Can I pivot my voice?
My tone?
My persona?
Yes. Why not?
Can I pivot physically? Maybe. That would be a fun meta-project: blogging my way through a mental and physical shift. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
The point is: there’s space to evolve. Space to test. Space to surprise myself.
The Orchestra Without a Conductor
Something strange happens when I write:
A thought enters. Another follows. Then five more.
My fingers try to keep up. They often don’t.
It’s like an orchestra starts playing in my head—but there’s no conductor. Just sound. And somehow, it starts making sense. Not all at once. But enough for me to keep going.
Writing feels like that.
One word leads to the next.
One idea triggers another.
And slowly, something forms.
That’s the beauty of it. And that’s also why I keep coming back—even if I don’t know where it’s all going.
What Have I Learned About Myself So Far?
It’s still early, but a few patterns are emerging.
1. I’m driven by motion.
Planning is nice, but I need movement to feel alive. Writing has been that movement lately.
2. I need to start before I know.
Waiting for clarity never works. Clarity comes through action—not before it.
3. I respect creators more than ever.
It’s easy to critique. But building something—even something small—is hard. Vulnerable. Brave. I want to be someone who builds, not just someone who observes.
4. Evening sparks are real.
My best creative thoughts often come at night, when the day has quieted down. Something about that space helps the chaos in my brain settle into order. Or at least… creative chaos.
5. This might be a long-term thing. Or not.
I’m okay with not knowing. I’ll ride the wave while it lasts.
A Blog About Starting (Again and Again)
So, what is this blog about?
Right now, it’s about the beginning. The forming stage. The spark. The orchestral chaos of creativity. The small mental shifts that happen when you take the first step.
And maybe, if I keep going, it’ll turn into a blog about continuing.
Or finishing.
Or shifting direction entirely.
That’s the joy of this format—it’s a living thing.
If you’re still reading this, thank you. You’re witnessing something raw. In-progress. Possibly pointless. But also possibly meaningful.
Because if this post nudges you even 1% closer to taking your own first step, then it’s done something real.
What Comes Next?
Honestly… I don’t know.
But I’ve stopped waiting for the big picture to arrive.
Instead, I’m noticing the small pieces coming together.
And I’m okay writing one of them at a time.