Twice during my school years, teachers questioned whether I had copied my essays, suggesting my writing seemed too advanced for someone my age. Even as an adult, friends and colleagues continued to urge me to write for an audience, telling me I had a voice that deserved to be heard.
But I never did.
In any case I don’t regret not having invested more time writing. My life has been filled with experiences that I consider equally if not more meaningful than the fame and glory reserved for best-selling authors (and there is no telling if I would have achieved that status in the first place).
But notwithstanding the lack of regrets, now that I’m no longer a young adult in their prime, I have started to wonder: why didn’t I take that leap?
I thought answering this question would have been a long and meandering journey of self-discovery, with my thoughts tumbling out in a stream of consciousness… But in reality, it only took me three minutes to figure out the answer.
I have been lazy. And I have been afraid.
I hate to admit it, but the truth is simple: laziness and fear got the best of me. My 40-something self would have loved to be interviewed on TV about his latest book, but my 20- and 30-something selves had absolutely zero intention of putting in the effort to get there. And more importantly, my younger self loved the idea of being a talented author, but was terrified of discovering I was just a mediocre scribbler.
Now, at 50-something, I still don’t plan on devoting myself to becoming a published author. But I have learned a few things along the way. For example I have realised that fear often holds the potential for growth, and that talent without practice is like power without control.
So here’s my experiment: “One Year of Writing”. Starting in 2026, I’m committing to post once a week on this blog. Not for fame or glory, but for personal growth and a bit of scientific curiosity.
More on this project in future posts. But this first one wouldn’t feel complete without giving a shout-out to Alex, a former colleague, current friend and writer, who’s spent the past four years relentlessly encouraging me to pick up the metaphorical pen.
Without him, this project wouldn’t exist.