on some pride

I had my first writing class on Monday night.  I was so irrationally nervous.  I knew this was supposed to be fun, that I was a willing participant, but I couldn't talk myself down from the nerves.  My face felt flush and I spent about twenty minutes taking deep breaths before the teacher finally came in.  It didn't help that I got there over a half hour early.  

I was most nervous about the in class assignments and of reading them out loud.  On the spot.  With no editing.  I have never tried fiction before, I've only ever written about myself.  But I tried.  And at five to ten I realized that I'd kick myself all week if I didn't participate, so I volunteered to read what I had just written.  And nothing terrible happened.  Instead, the guy next to me actually said, "that was good".  

As I get older I feel like there are fewer times where I am able to be really proud of myself.  Growing up there were recitals and big exams and school plays and graduations.  Now something good happens every once and a while at work that's my doing, but that doesn't feel like much.  Monday night I felt proud.  It may be a small thing, but I'll take it.

bird's eye view, random photo for a Friday