Write what you know, they say.

What I know is that all along I’ve observed the world through a writer’s eyes. First possessing a sensitivity to what is going on above and beneath the surface of life, then self-sequestering to sort and process, followed by an always-simmering desire to capture, record, and sometimes (but not always) share with the world my conclusions through the medium of the written word.

All this has held true for as far back as I can remember. However, for most of my life, significant roadblocks have stood in my way–namely severe self-doubt and an oppressive case of writer’s block. Also, I thought that if I wasn’t sitting down and immediately crafting a masterpiece then I’d better not sit down in the first place.

Instead of writing I circled and stalked words and writers like a hawk circles its prey. First as a voracious reader, then as an English major, followed first by a career in public relations (where I wrote about and promoted everything from real estate deals to cutting-edge technology) and then years spent in publishing where I marketed, publicized, and wrote about high-quality books and their authors. My collection of signed copies of books by family, friends, and acquaintances fills at least three bookshelves.

Yes, some writing happened, but my own ideas were rarely in the driver’s seat and I prioritized everyone else’s writing above my own.

All this was topped off by the fact that I was raised by a gifted, prolific (yet generous) writer whose dedication and passion for the craft were legendary. Being a published writer was my father’s realm, not mine.

“Do you write yourself?” people would ask. “A little, mostly in my journal,” was usually my weak (but accurate) answer.

And then the day came when I became so tired of my excuses and decades of self-muting that I simply took a U-turn and stopped listening to the fear in myself. I asked myself the question: If I don’t tell my story, who will? Of course, the answer was NO ONE. Either I wilted on the vine of my dreams or I got to work. So, I started writing. Practically overnight the decades of doubt and hesitation burned off like fog in the San Francisco sunshine and I’ve hardly stopped putting pen to paper since.

Now, nothing stops me. I write through doubt, through blocks, through tiredness, while my to-do list sits next to my laptop mocking me. I get up at 3 AM to record the words and ideas floating in my mind, I pull over and write in the Notes section of my phone. I’ve even written at trampoline parks while hundreds of jumping, screaming kids surround me.

It’s true what they say, writing is a muscle. The more you write the more adept you get at saying what you really want to say, at expressing your version of the truth as clearly and beautifully as you can at that moment. And if it isn’t as clear and as beautiful as you want your writing to be, no problem. You come back to it the next day and begin again. Editing and revising become a joy because they are tools that chip away at the plaque and get you closer to the clean enamel of your truth.

Perhaps you understand my history. Maybe you have spent years watching others, people you admire (and some you don’t) express themselves to the world, create art, start businesses, make films, write poems/articles/books, do podcasts, and tell stories.

I’ve got ideas too, you’ve said to yourself, but I’m too busy/afraid/shy/tired/overwhelmed/untalented to get down to work. And as long as you believe it, it’s true. You are too busy, too tired, too shy, too overwhelmed. But all of these things are within your control. Only you determine how busy you are, how tired you are, how overwhelmed you feel, and only you can prioritize expressing yourself to the world.

You are not untalented, I promise. We all have talents. Prioritize yours.

I did and it changed everything.