In the Beginning

Have I always loved beginnings? Sometimes not. Beginnings are fraught also with many unknowns, many hiddens. The beginning of a baby’s life, when every dream could still be realized, every hope fulfilled and the most amazing life any two parents could imagine seems possible. The beginning of a trip when it is full of unrealistic fantastical promise. The beginning of a book, like a new love interest before you get to know them: Both are perfect .
At the beginning of a new job I envied those already comfortable there, already in the flow, already taking their jobs for granted. In a new city, I envied those who made themselves right at home wherever they were making it look as though they had always been there, living their lives.
I don’t always despise beginnings. On the mornings that I was first to walk the beach, or only thought so because the ocean erased all traces of those who had gone before me, I felt like the only person in the world at the beginning of time.
I’m three years into a writing career and every time I pull out a new notebook or click on the new page in Word, I restart, begin again. Every story, every article every essay. Maybe it is the continuous supply of new beginnings that keeps me interested.
What are you beginning?