With
the tingling that precedes the birth of ideas, a tingling that makes you want
to do more than you had ever thought before, also comes the paralyzing fear of
failure, of never quite shaping your reality to the perfect model of a life you
have dreamt about.
That
fear, has been with me for far too long.
Before
typing the first sentence, I have already thought of how people won’t like it,
how I will be laughed at or worst, ignored. I cringe at the thought that the
words, that sound so potent and loud in my head, won’t be any louder than the
squeak of a door. But most of all, I fear that the writer I dream of being will
never be more than a nostalgia I cling to when I am grey and old.
It is
this collection of fears that stop me from writing full paragraphs that have
been floating in my mind for years. Stories have been lost forever because of
this fear. The flawless construction of descriptions has crumbled into pieces I
can’t put back together, all because I didn’t have the guts to put it out there
for the world to see.
But
this is not the post where I’ll let fear have its moment in the spotlight, but
the post where I finally face it and hold my ground when I tell it it’s got no
business being here anymore. For too long it has lingered and bothered. Too
long it has served no purpose.
This
is the moment I say to myself, and anyone who reads, that it is worth it. It’s
worth it to click ‘Post’ while you tell that little voice in your head (the one
that says “this is the stupidest thing you’ve ever written”) to go to hell.
It’s worth it to feel silly, to feel unsettled and exposed because it means you
are trying, you took the step forward instead of staying frozen. The
embarrassment, the extra cups of coffee to jolt the enthusiasm, rewriting a
sentence fifty times until it has melody… it’s all worth it.
I find
myself constantly preparing for perfection. All the stars must be aligned in
order to take action. And when they are not, I postpone. I need to have the
perfect structure of the story in my head before my fingertips touch the
keyboard, the right pictures, the absolute best looking website before I say
“Now I can do it.” But now I know perfectionism is not my friend but a constant
excuse maker for me to use when I’m too scared. When I’d say that I needed to
write down all my ideas first, come up with a schedule, it would really
translate “I am terrified of not being good enough and I will never become who
I want to be.”
I vow to stop this search for perfectionism
and begin a hungry quest for what is true. I promise to rip out of my
vocabulary the sentence “I’ll do it later” or “This can wait”. I promise to
stop thinking about those few times someone made me feel like I didn’t have it
in me and recall every day the countless times I impressed someone or made them
feel something with my words and I’ll use those moments like prayers from a
rosary that will keep my spirits high when writing days don’t have better
results than staring at a blank page. I promise to risk what I am for the
possibility of becoming all that I ever wanted to be.
There
is no more preparing to be done. No more excuses can be said, even if they are
amusingly creative. It’s time to shoot and aim later, to fill pages and not
edit as I go.
