It’s time for us to break up.
Though we’ve had a pretty solid relationship ever since I started my first blog five years ago, I have come to realize I no longer need you.
That’s not to say you haven’t served a purpose.
You were where I ran when I was scared to act. It was your words I could turn to for a bitter comfort when I believed I didn’t have what it takes.
When doubt whispered “give up” and I wanted to, you were there to nudge me over the edge. To push me back to average when I got scared of being awesome.
When I wanted to use my own inadequacies as an excuse to ignore my dreams, you provided the words. When I needed proof that I was a failure, you gave it in spades. Even this Christmas, you tweeted things like this:
Ahh, I see what you did there. I write a humor blog, and you wanted to start a funny version of it. Gotcha.
For years, you were a poisonous balm to rub on my wounds, but there’s a problem.
And it’s not one I foresaw. It’s not an issue I ever imagined I’d face.
You see, I’m starting to believe I can do this.
I’m starting to believe that writing a New York Times best-seller isn’t so crazy.
I’m starting to believe I wasn’t created for average.
And so now, spending time with you feels like walking out of a nightclub into full daylight.
Your light is harsh. Your words unnecessary. Your input no longer needed.
I leave you to 2012.
It’s not me. It’s you.