What If I’m Not Interesting Today

On fear, self-worth, and learning to trust the quiet rhythm

Photo by Masha S on

I take a deep breath and set the intention to clear my mind.

I don’t need to be anyone or anything in this moment.

I set a timer for 30 minutes. My vow is simple: this doesn’t need to turn into anything. It’s just me, facing myself — on the page.

I catch myself, already, overthinking, trying to turn it into something. It just has to come through. Even if it’s monkeys jumping on the bed or some nonsense, that’s what it’ll be.

I’m letting go of expectations. I’m not watching for errors or asking, “Is this what I meant to say?” Not now.

Just letting whatever comes… land here.

I catch myself mumbling while I write, thinking about the warm tonic beside me. I want to sip it, but my fingers keep moving. I take a sip — had to — and now I’m typing with one hand. Then back to two.

I think this is boring. And maybe it is.

I often feel like I have to be interesting. When I’m not on some excited, magnetic high, I avoid people.

Even writing that, I pause. Is it true? Maybe. I wrote it down.