Start Before You Feel Ready
The trouble with “someday” is that it always gives you somewhere to put a dream without actually having to start it.
Most of us have something sitting there.
Something we want to learn.
Something we used to love.
Something we've quietly wondered about for years.
Maybe it's drawing or painting. Maybe it's woodworking, photography, gardening, sewing, writing, baking, or learning an instrument.
Maybe it's bigger than a hobby.
Maybe you've thought about going back to school, finishing a degree, earning a certification, changing careers, or finally learning something you've always wanted to understand.
But life has a remarkable ability to fill the space where "someday" was supposed to go.
Work happens. Kids happen. Bills happen. Health happens. Years happen.
And someday keeps moving.
That's the problem.
Monday is a day.
Saturday is a day.
August 25 is a day.
Someday isn't actually a day.
It's where we put things when we aren't quite ready to say no to them, but we're also not ready to begin.
And maybe the hardest part isn't actually doing the thing.
Maybe the hardest part is giving yourself permission to begin.
I Didn't Feel Ready Either
When I picked up a pencil again after nearly 40 years, I didn't feel ready.
I wasn't trying to become an artist.
I didn't have some grand plan.
I certainly didn't know where any of it was going.
I just started.
And when I look at those first drawings now, I can see exactly how little I knew.
There were things I didn't understand about pencils. Paper. Shading. Shapes. Animals. Color. Line work.
There were things I didn't even know that I didn't know.
That's one of the funny things about beginning. You can't possibly prepare for every question because you haven't encountered most of the questions yet.
I learned them as I went.
One drawing led to another.
One problem led to an answer.
That answer usually led to another problem.
Slowly, without noticing it happening, I became a little more comfortable with the pencil in my hand.
That's when I realized something that changed the way I think about beginning:
Starting didn't happen after I became ready. Starting is what slowly made me ready.
If I had waited until I felt like an artist before I started drawing, I might still be waiting.
"I Should Have Started Years Ago"
One of the easiest reasons to wait is age.
I should have done this 10 years ago.
Twenty years ago.
I'm too old to start now.
I understand that thought.
But try pushing gently against it.
If you're going to be older next year anyway, you might as well be older with one year of experience.
If you start learning piano at 60, you may never become a concert pianist.
But at 65, you could be someone who has played piano for five years.
Five years from now is probably coming whether you learn piano or not.
If you take one class now, that class could eventually become the degree you've been wondering about.
If you pick up a camera today, five years from now you may have thousands of photographs and an entirely different way of noticing the world around you.
If you plant your first garden this spring, five summers from now you won't be wondering whether you can grow tomatoes.
You'll probably be complaining about having too many tomatoes.
That's progress, too.
Age doesn't make starting pointless.
Age makes time more valuable.
Beginners Aren't Supposed to Know What They're Doing
There's another reason we wait: we think we should know more before we start.
But beginners aren't supposed to know what they're doing.
That's why they're beginners.
When I returned to drawing, I didn't know how to draw animals.
I didn't know how to make these little stories.
I didn't know which pencils I liked.
I didn't know what paper worked best for what I wanted to do.
Most of what I've learned came because I needed the answer to the next little question.
Not the next hundred questions.
The next one.
You don't have to understand an entire college degree before filling out an application.
You don't need to know every chord before learning your first three.
You don't need to understand everything about gardening before planting one tomato.
You don't need to know how to write a novel before writing page one.
You only need enough to take the next step.
Then you learn enough for the step after that.
What If I'm Bad at It?
Maybe this is the question that stops more people than almost anything else.
What if I try it and I'm just bad at it?
Well...
You probably will be.
At least for a while.
If you start something completely new and discover you're immediately wonderful at it, congratulations. That's a lovely problem to have.
That has not been my experience.
I've made drawings I really like.
I've also made a few that probably should have stayed face down on the desk.
But those drawings mattered, too.
Being bad at something isn't evidence that you should stop.
It's evidence that you're doing something you haven't learned yet.
Somewhere along the way, I think adults become embarrassed by being beginners.
Children don't seem nearly as bothered by it.
A child can draw a horse that looks vaguely like a potato with legs, hold it up proudly and announce, "Horse!"
Then they'll draw another one.
Adults look at our potato-horse and decide perhaps we weren't meant to be artists.
We expect ourselves to skip the awkward part.
But the awkward part is where learning lives.
You are allowed to make the crooked shelf.
You are allowed to play the wrong note.
You are allowed to take the blurry photograph.
You are allowed to write the terrible first paragraph.
You are allowed to make the drawing you never show anybody.
You are allowed to begin badly.
It Doesn't Have to Become a Business
We've gotten very good at asking what something is good for.
Can I sell it?
Can I monetize it?
Could I turn it into a side business?
Could this become content?
Could this make money?
Sometimes the answer is yes.
But maybe it doesn't need to.
Maybe you can paint because you like paint.
Take pictures because you enjoy taking pictures.
Grow flowers because you like seeing flowers outside your window.
Learn about history because you're curious.
Bake bread because your kitchen smells wonderful when you do.
Take the class you've always wanted to take simply because you've always wanted to take it.
Not everything needs to become productive.
Not everything needs a return on investment.
Not everything needs a business plan.
Sometimes enjoying something is enough reason to do it.
That's not wasted time.
That's part of having a life.
You Don't Need to Know Where It Leads
Sometimes, of course, something you start simply because you're curious becomes much more.
That's what happened to me.
When I started drawing again, I didn't know these little characters were coming.
I didn't know there would eventually be hundreds of videos.
I didn't know there would be prints, stories, books, or a Hand Drawn Project.
I certainly didn't know I'd find myself sitting outside watching a goose and wondering what he might lose while looking for breakfast.
I couldn't have planned any of that because none of it existed yet.
The ideas appeared because I was already moving.
You don't have to know where something will lead before you're allowed to start walking.
Starting Again Still Counts
And maybe your thing isn't new at all.
Maybe you already loved it once.
You played guitar.
You painted.
You wrote stories.
You built things.
You took pictures.
You gardened.
You went to school.
Then life happened.
Work. Children. Money. Health. Responsibilities. Years.
Putting something down doesn't mean you gave it up forever.
There isn't an expiration date on an old interest.
The guitar doesn't care how long it sat in the closet.
The sketchbook doesn't know how old you are.
The camera isn't offended that you haven't used it.
You can return.
Starting again is still starting.
Some Blank Pages Are Bigger Than Hobbies
Maybe your "someday" is something bigger.
A degree.
A certification.
A different career.
Something that feels intimidating because your mind immediately jumps from the first step all the way to the finish line.
How will I pay for it?
How long will it take?
Can I handle the classes?
What if I'm the oldest person there?
What if I fail?
Those may eventually be important questions.
But you don't have to solve all of them today.
Today you can look at the program.
Send the email.
Make the phone call.
Ask what credits transfer.
Find out what it costs.
The first step doesn't have to be impressive. It just has to be the first step.
You're Also Allowed to Quit
Here's something else we don't say enough when encouraging people to start:
You are allowed to discover that you don't like it.
Starting isn't a contract.
You can take a pottery class and discover you don't care about pottery.
You can buy a used guitar and decide guitar isn't really your thing.
You can plant a garden and decide you'd rather buy tomatoes.
You can take one college class and realize you want a completely different direction.
That's okay.
Trying something doesn't obligate you to spend the rest of your life doing it.
"I tried it and it wasn't for me" is very different from wondering about it for 20 years.
Sometimes beginning leads to a lifelong passion.
Sometimes it leads somewhere unexpected.
Sometimes it simply answers a question.
All three outcomes have value.
So, What Is Your "Someday"?
What's the thing you keep moving to someday?
Maybe it's small.
Maybe it's enormous.
Maybe nobody else would even understand why it matters to you.
That's okay.
Take the class.
Apply for the program.
Dust off the guitar.
Buy the cheap sketchbook.
Plant one tomato.
Take your camera on a 20-minute walk and photograph five things you've never really noticed before.
Open a blank document and write the first 100 words.
Make the phone call you've been thinking about making.
And if drawing is the thing you've been thinking about, you don't even have to buy anything to find out whether you enjoy it. Grab a pencil and some paper, or download one of the free coloring pages in the Hand Drawn Project shop and spend a few quiet minutes creating something.
It doesn't have to become anything more than that.
You don't have to promise you'll be great at it.
You don't have to promise you'll make money from it.
You don't even have to promise you'll stick with it forever.
Just give yourself permission to begin.
Beginnings Usually Don't Look Important
I used to be scared of new beginnings because I thought they were supposed to feel important.
Most of them don't.
Sometimes a beginning is just a pencil touching paper.
A form being filled out.
A door being opened.
A first lesson.
A phone call.
A seed going into dirt.
A first try that nobody else ever sees.
The important part isn't how impressive the beginning looks.
It's that there was a moment when someday became today.
When I picked up that pencil again after nearly 40 years, I couldn't see what would come from it.
I didn't need to.
I only needed to make the first mark.
Whatever your blank page is, put something on it.
Start before you feel ready.
Because sometimes starting is exactly how you become ready.
Keep creating. ❤️