I have a tendency to make plans for multiple projects, create long to-do lists, start a few, complete one, and still feel like I haven’t tackled the real list I meant to. But I don’t think that’s a uniquely “me” problem.

Blogging was one of those projects I always planned to start, but never did. Thankfully, that’s changed. So, for this month’s write-up, I’m giving an ode to blogging - but instead of sharing why I do it, I’m sharing why I didn’t start earlier.

Hopefully, this will resonate with anyone who’s been holding off on something they’ve long wanted to begin (if you continue reading this) - from one homo sapien to another.

What will I even write about?

Yes what indeed.

I’ve always had too many interests at once. Two years ago, it was making crafts from foraged goods to decorate my home. Then came woodworking, followed by landscape design, and now, being a willing servant to my two burmese cats.

Even as my interests kept changing, my curiosity about AI never really left. And now, that curiosity turned into a pull to do something that helps mitigate existential risks from AI. Once that clicked, I made a plan of learning everything I could learn about technical AI safety - and write about what I learned, out in the open. That’s how I finally found my focus, and I’ve stuck with it since.

Do I even care, and do others care?

This question was trickier for me for a long time.

For a long time, I couldn’t find a topic that sat at the intersection of what I cared about and what others might care about. I considered writing about things I’d learned at work, the kind of lessons you wish you knew earlier. But it didn’t feel unique - so it doesn’t answer the question of others caring. On the other hand, topics I personally cared about didn’t seem shareable enough to put out in the open.

When I stumbled into the AI safety research space though, something clicked. I care about working in AI if I can help make it go well for others, making others care enough about it. That gave my writing both purpose and audience.

In a way, I found about 75% of my ikigai - what you love, what you’re good at, and what the world needs. I haven’t quite figured out the last 25% (what you can be paid for), but if my experiments and reflections add something toward mitigating existential risk, then perhaps that part will follow too.

If I write, am I just reinventing someone else’s wheel?

This thought can be a trap.

Unless you’re writing about something no one has ever touched before, someone is always reinventing someone else’s wheel. But should that stop anyone from writing about what they’re passionate about? I don’t think so.

If everyone stopped writing because something similar already existed, we’d lose the diversity of expression that lets people connect in different ways. Not everyone resonates with every writer’s tone, rhythm, or storytelling, and that’s the beauty of it.

Once I came to terms with the fact that that some people might prefer my way of expressing ideas, the fear of repetition didn’t seem so big anymore.

Not another person writing about AI safety and risk.

This one’s a bit personal.

There are so many people much more knowledgeable in AI risk and safety space who can explain concepts far better than I can. I kept telling myself that the world doesn’t need another person writing about AI safety - especially not now, when we’re drowning in content deluge and can barely tell what’s AI-generated or not.

But then it struck me: if I run an experiment, observe something, or think through an idea, no one else can write that for me. That simple framing was enough to make me start. And once I started, continuing became easier.

Procrastination in guise of perfectionism.

This has been the toughest one to overcome.

I constantly have a tug-of-war going on in my head about this. Even as I write this, part of me wonders whether I should publish it. Maybe I should first make a list of all the reasons why I’m writing this, and only publish once I’m ready.

That mindset has trapped me for years - setting unrealistic expectations, avoiding discomfort, and missing opportunities because I thought I wasn’t ready yet. This is probably 90% of the reason I didn’t start writing in public earlier. But then accepting that my writing may have flaws, may be critiqued, and may never feel finished, has been freeing. Shifting that mindset has finally let me write, and in the process, I’ve learned to notice when I’m using perfection as an excuse to procrastinate - it’s been a lesson I really needed.