I hate it with all my being — the waiting, the buildup, the excruciating preparation. The more space I give it in my head, the bigger and uglier it becomes.

So I try to downplay it. I tell myself it’s not a big thing, that it’s fine. But then the anxiety settles in anyway, staying with me the entire time. I already know I’ll be anxious until 16 December, and that’s the worst part: all those days walking hand in hand with this nagging feeling.

I don’t mind doing things outside my comfort zone. What I mind is the time gap — the long stretch between deciding to do something and actually doing it.

Honestly, I was not made for waiting. Yet waiting means preparing, and preparation is crucial. I need that time to make sure everything is not perfect, but as good as it can possibly be.

And I will do it. Because it matters to me. That’s why I said yes.

My corporate job is important to me — even if sometimes I wish it wasn’t. But I like it. I like the rush, the people side of it, the part where my brain connects dots and expands. I like the challenge, even when it makes me sick to my stomach.

And because I like it so much, I know I could never live from writing alone. I would never be happy locked in a world of only my characters.

Sometimes I don’t understand myself. I can’t be just one thing. I won’t be happy doing just one thing. I crave silence and an empty house the same way I crave kids jumping on top of me or dancing in crowded rooms. I need what I need when I need it — infuriating and confusing, even to me.

But with time, I’ve learned to let go. I won’t force myself into a box. I’ll do what feels right when it feels right. Even if that means constantly stepping outside my comfort zone.