First time I traveled to the UK to practice English, I merely just spoke French.
First time a friend inviting me to her birthday as a kid, I offered her makeup, the only thing she was allergic to.
First time I moved to my own place, my cooking skills were that bad that my cholesterol got dangerously too low.
First time someone asked me out, I replied let’s be friends… but ended up dating this person a month later.
First time I received flowers, I liked them so much that I put them in a vase, with water, until they really withered… and developed a larvae culture which turned into a fly army and invaded my room.
I just terribly, miserably, really suck at first times. I just miss it every times something new comes up; always takes me two times. I don’t have this instinct that I respect a lot in some people, of spontaneity, of synchronization between emotions and actions, between facts and quick reasoning.
I’ve been willing to write on Medium for a while, to try doing something here, but every times the idea of writing a first post just repelled me. There is something terrifying in first times in that we simultaneously dive into the unknown and we show who we are without controlling this output like we do in familiar situations. And we are only given one shot.
Somehow I like the challenge of first times, I like the indulgence they inspire, I like laughing thinking about all those trivial failures of my life. But I like second times better. Second times are for when the first time didn’t discourage us too much, they’re for exploring deeper something new.
Could I just escape first times once, by simply saying “Hi Medium, I’m Amaël, and I’m just terrible at first times. I hope my second post will be better.”
“L’esquisse qu’est notre vie n’est l’esquisse de rien, une ébauche sans tableau.” (The sketch our life is is the sketch of nothing, a draft without a painting.) Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being.