It started with a tremble, and a rush.
It was October 2015, and I was about to put myself out there in a way I never had before.
I had set up a website. And now, I was ready to post my first article there, for all the world to see.
Well, not entirely ready.
I knew that once I hit Publish, there would be no turning back. Anyone could read my words. And my sense of anonymity would be gone.
That might not seem like a big deal to many. But for me, it would be a watershed moment. And I wasn’t about to rush into it.
So, I checked the site to make sure everything was perfect. I took a deep breath. And with a tremble of anticipation and a rush of adrenaline, I clicked that Publish button.
My first article on Words of the West was titled I Am Not Perfect. It was a raw ode to my own imperfection. More poetry than anything of substance.
Publishing it felt like a big first step. But that step only matters if there are more to follow.
So, I sat down that night and committed to a schedule. I’d write a new article each week moving forward, no matter what.
I’d like to say that decision changed everything. But it didn’t. At least not initially.
Indeed, there was more art than wisdom in the articles that followed. My writing remained short and punchy. Easily read and easily forgotten.
It wasn’t until my sixth article that I really wrote anything of note — Darkness In The Light, my firsthand account of the 9/11 attacks. The words flowed from my mind to my fingers and on to the keyboard. And as they did, the emotions spilled out of me.
Experiences like this were why I had taken the leap to create Words of the West. This article was something I had longed to share with the world for years. Now, I finally had the platform — and the courage — to give this story the light of day.
This was the type of writing I needed to replicate. This was my North Star.
But, there are only so many profound, emotional experiences in my life. Turning them into articles week in and week out would be an untenable challenge.
And so, less than two months into my venture, I found myself at a crossroads.
As I determined what to do next, I thought of the renowned marketing guru Seth Godin. Seth maintains a daily blog, and he has posted something fresh there each day for a number of years. Some are more profound than others. But they are there, every day.
Seth is a teacher at heart, and he is open with his writing process. Much of his modus operandi comes down to three words: Ship your work.
In other words, stick to your schedule. The doing is more important than the perfecting.
This advice was all I needed to move forward. I leaned in, and let the articles flow.
At first, this seemed like a step back. The articles that directly followed Darkness In The Light were the same vanilla material that had existed before it.
But eventually, the writing got lengthier. It got stronger. It got more nuanced.
Over time, I found my voice.
This article is coming to you exactly five years after I Am Not Perfect first appeared on this website. It is the 262nd piece of writing I am sharing with you — all in consecutive weeks.
That’s quite the streak. One that I’ve kept going despite a number of disruptions in my life over those 262 weeks.
I persevered because the streak matters. Words of the West matters. You, my dear readers, matter.
On tough weeks, you keep me motivated. On good ones, you keep me inspired. And that motivation, that inspiration — it’s what keeps me going.
The engine is always churning. There are always more thoughts to be shared. There is always more that can be written.
The words I write might not always be finely polished. The thoughts I share might not always be agreeable.
They’re raw and they’re real. And collectively, they matter.
Yes, these five years of articles are more than the conglomeration of 262 narratives. They’re the first segment of a long and fulfilling journey.
It’s fitting that I speak of journeys as Words of the West turns five.
For not long after I turned five, my family went on our first journey.
One summer day, my parents buckled my sister and I into the back seat of a sedan. They loaded the car with supplies. And they steered the car toward Maine.
Over the next few weeks, we would explore lighthouses along jagged coastlines. We would hike in the serene wilderness Acadia National Park. We would eat copious amounts of lobster. And we would camp under the stars.
Decades later, I still remember this trip in vivid detail. But the journey that came before it — the early years of my life — the memories of that are a lot blurrier.
This is understandable.
Our brains are still developing in our infancy and toddlerhood. We spend that time soaking up experience like a sponge.
It’s only after we build that database that our memory becomes sticky. Only then do we have a frame of reference to build off of.
Perhaps the same principle applies to Words of the West. After all, the world has seen a dizzying array of change over the past half-decade — from social unrest to environmental disasters to a pandemic-fueled recession. These shifts have permanently transformed us, altering our frame of reference.
Recounting all this might seem distressing. Yet, I find a strange comfort in this theory.
For it shows that everything is a work in progress — both the author’s work and the reader’s perspective. It shows that we all have room to grow. And it shows that there is still a mission to follow.
It’s my great privilege to continue that mission. And it’s my great honor to have you along for the ride.
Here’s to all that lies ahead.