Tell your story. Tell it again. Repeat. Refine. They will roll their eyes. You will make it better. You will polish the rough parts. You will repeat. Practice. Practice. Consistency, but improvement. You will think they’re laughing. Some will notice. Some will care. Some will applaud. Your small circle has the misfortune of hearing your story from the beginning. The world has the fortune of hearing your story at the end of a line of improvements. Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid of repeating yourself. Don’t be afraid of being a broken record. Your pride isn’t damaged by repetition. Your pride is damaged by thinking your words are at their best at the moment of first utterance. That’s a lie. That’s a damned lie. Repeat. Improve. Make best. It will define you. Because your end product is the goal; the middle is the path; the beginning is the seed that becomes the mighty oak. Keep a copy of your first blush as a historical footnote, but don’t fall in love with it. You cannot build a tree house in a sapling. So through seasons you go. Grow, repeat, carry on, give shade, bear fruit, become ripe. They will love you.
