
I used to wait for the perfect moment to start.
Not because I was lazy, but because starting felt like a promise I could break.
So I planned, redesigned, renamed things, and felt more "secure".
Then months passed and nothing real existed.
The first step is supposed to be ugly.
It’s a login screen that barely works, a page with bad handwriting, a draft you’d never show.
But it’s also the only step that creates gravity.
Once something exists, it pulls you back and gives you a place to return to.
I learned that building isn’t one heroic sprint.
It’s a series of returns, especially when you’re doing it alone.
With Mindfate, I disappeared for weeks, came back, rebuilt, vanished again, and hated myself for it.
The only reason it survived is simple: every return started with a tiny next step.
When I feel stuck now, I don’t ask for the full plan.
I ask what I can finish in the next 20 minutes and make it measurable.
Send the message, create the repo, write the first paragraph, outline the page, push the commit, and let the work speak first.
Most fear lives in imagination, where it gets loud and dramatic.
Action makes it small, almost boring, and that’s the point.
And here’s the part nobody likes to hear: the step doesn’t need confidence.
I move before I feel ready, because “ready” keeps changing.
Confidence shows up after you move, like a receipt that proves you did the thing.
Take one step today that makes you better or more ahead than yesterday, and let that be enough.