Commitment. It's a word that can amaze, surprise and delight. Sometimes all at once. Sometimes not in a good way.
I've always felt that a promise is meant to be kept. That being true to one's word is the definition of honor. I've lived my life trying to hold up my end of the bargain. I keep secrets. Return calls. Show up. Follow up. Try to keep pace with emails (not always successfully). But when it comes to delivering on the deals I make with myself? My track record is nothing to brag about.
Case in point: this blog. I started it with the intention of telling people about it. The first month was supposed to be practice, just to see how it felt and decide whether or not it was something I'd enjoy. As you can see, it's now almost four months later. I've told probably a dozen or so people, "I started a blog", but I've only told two people the actual name of it. And one of them is my boyfriend.
What am I waiting for? I'm waiting for the "C" word to kick in. To grab the Pisces in me by the tail and push me upstream. I'm no fool: I know that if I tell people I'm here they'll come visit. And comment. And then I'll have to keep writing. Because that's the promise I'm making by telling them. That's the commitment I'm making to myself. To show up here. Every week. And give myself the gift of writing.