Writing on paper seems so much safer than jumping out of a moving plane, but there are similarities. In either case, the most difficult step is the first one. Everything else simply seems to happen in its own time and in its own way. Then, I suppose most things work that way.
Science calls it inertia. I seldom ever call it anything, but I recognize it. It is the principle that something still wants to stay that way and something moving wants to keep moving. For this reason the first step into open air is more difficult than the fall, the first pen stroke worse than the rambling to follow. The first steps require more than mere motion. They require something to be overcome.
In just about every way a step can be important, the first one is. One step in the right direction or the wrong leads quickly down a path, and that path always leads somewhere. It is that mounted pressure of knowing so that worsens the lack of motion we must overcome. It is a tricky proposition, yet one as common as dirt. The longer we think about it, the more common it becomes.
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