It’s okay, self: you’re (well) over thirty, with the grey hairs and growing child to show for it. Leave for another day the manifestos, the interconnected concepts, the fully-realized Word leaping fully formed from the forehead.
Resist even the urge to pause here in medias res to backfill thoughts and to grasp. See the grasping, and let it go.
Humble beginnings are just that: beginnings. Let this be mine.