The Myth of the Spark
We’re taught to wait for the moment—that magical flicker of clarity or confidence that tells us now is the time.
We romanticize beginnings:
The instant download. The creative high. The perfect “aha” that rearranges our life in a heartbeat.
But most real beginnings are quieter than that.
They’re the feeling of something tugging at you while you wash dishes.
They’re the click of your phone screen going dark when a question won’t let you go.
They’re the way your chest tightens every time you think, what if I actually did it?
We don’t talk enough about these quiet thresholds—the ones we almost miss. The ones that don’t arrive with lightning, but with a whisper.
And we certainly don’t talk about the lies we absorb that keep us from crossing those thresholds at all.
The Lies That Keep Us Stuck
We don’t stay still because we’re lazy.
We stay still because we’ve inherited myths that sound logical—but are designed to keep us from moving.
“You need to be clear before you begin.”
We wait for a clean vision. For a sure sign. But beginnings are foggy by nature. You don’t find clarity and then start—you start, and clarity reveals itself in motion.
“You have to feel ready.”
Readiness is often just safety dressed up. The real beginning almost always feels a little shaky, a little unformed. And still—it’s the one that counts.
“You need more time, tools, or training.”
There will always be a course you didn’t take, a platform you haven’t mastered, a version of yourself you imagine would do it better. But the fire is already in you. You don’t need more to begin—you need permission.
“If it doesn’t look big or public, it doesn’t count.”
The world sells us scale. But some of the most meaningful shifts happen in private. The whisper you answer. The decision no one else claps for. Those are still beginnings—and often the most real ones.
“Once you begin, you have to finish perfectly.”
But starting is not a contract. It’s an experiment. A hello. You don’t owe perfection to your spark—you only owe it your presence.
You were never meant to begin perfectly. You were meant to begin truly.
What Actually Moves Us
So if those stories aren’t real—what is?
What does move us?
It’s not clarity.
It’s curiosity.
It’s not a feeling of readiness.
It’s the willingness to move while afraid.
It’s not a perfectly built plan.
It’s a single step. A question you stay with. A sketch, a sentence, a moment of saying “okay, maybe just today.”
Real momentum doesn’t begin with motivation. It begins with aliveness.
You don’t need a master plan. You need a pulse.
And the courage to follow where it leads—even if the light is faint, even if it flickers.
Let the Start Be Small
Let this be your permission to start in a way that no one else sees.
Start with a note scribbled on a napkin.
Start with five minutes in the morning before anyone else is awake.
Start with the draft that never becomes a post.
Start with no audience, no “outcome,” no guarantee.
Let it be small. Let it be strange. Let it be sacred.
The fire you begin today doesn’t have to blaze.
It only has to burn.
Call to Inner Action:
Choose something you’ve been circling. Don’t wait for clarity—just get closer to it. Begin something that matters to you, even if you don’t know where it’s going.
The Spark That Stays
Some inspiration burns hot and fast—then fizzles out as soon as the scroll ends.
But the kind we’re after in Ember is different.
It smolders.
It stays.
It changes the air around it.
Let this post be that kind of spark.
Let it lodge in your chest.
Let it make you move.
Not because someone told you to.
But because some part of you already knows: it’s time.
🌀 Journal Prompts
Reflect, write, or sit with one each day this week.
- What story about beginning am I still carrying that no longer feels true?
- Where am I waiting to be “ready” instead of letting myself begin?
- What’s one small step I could take that honors my fire right now?
- What does movement before mastery look like in my life today?
- What would it feel like to start something without needing to finish it?