it’s without pleasure that i’ve noted my recent aversion to working with purpose on the things that matter most to me. i feel as if i’m hiding from what i know i should be doing–and what i ultimately want to do. i think it’s safe to say that i’m in a transitional phase, on the verge of something potentially great, but not quite there yet. it’s as if i can dimly sense that the destination is within reach, but i still can’t see the path clearly, can’t anticipate what’s around each bend and am feeling my way towards an outcome that still feels a bit blurred and distant.
however, i know i won’t ever get there if i keep hiding from the work that i know i need to do, hiding from purpose and meaning, blanketed by an obscure fear of failing at the very thing you’ve been told your whole life that you’re good at, that you’re gifted, that you’re–wait for it–special. the phenomenon of feeling like a fraud, that the work controls you more than you control the work. that you’re a vessel for something greater rather than the composer of a magnificent symphony. that things, that words flow through you, like a stream in ways that don’t always make sense until many months and several revisions later and the story starts to unfold. it’s an act of faith and frankly one of optimism to write in such a manner, but it’s quite simply the only way i know how to do it. to give up complete control and succumb to the story that controls you.
to banish all fear of judgment, all fear of failure, all fear of somehow being wrong–or worse, being bad. it’s almost like theater, a suspension of disbelief and skepticism, if only for a few hours at a time. it finally feels like it’s time to do the work that is inside of me, to claim the story as my own to tell.