I keep telling myself to write. Right now, pen words, there are things that need to be written. You promised didn’t you? You promised the world, you promised yourself. You keep calling yourself a writer. But right now, right now I just want to sit. I just want to be. Be still.
I can feel my life catching up with my writing, with all the words I have written before. And I wonder when it will catch up again. I have a possibly amazing opportunity waiting for me; I knocked on the door and it is opening, I’m just not sure if they will let me in. But I keep imagining what it would be like if they let me in. I imagine it so much that I’m not taking the time to prepare my heart to be crushed. I don’t have the experience or the degree that they are asking for. I don’t think I am who they are asking for. But I want to be more than that. Because I know I can do all that they ask and more. I’m just afraid. I’m always afraid. I live in fear, I swim in fear, I breathe fear. But trying shouldn’t be scary. Trying could change things. If I don’t try, that’s where the real failure is. And if I’m not chosen, if they shut the door in my face, that’s really okay. I’m not losing anything anyway, I just didn’t gain what I wanted. So I’m trying to train myself to be okay with whatever outcome. Because I’m always okay. There is always a bigger plan. Always a better plan. Always something happening. Life churns on around me.
This inner dialogue probably isn’t something anyone wants to read. Maybe I should have skipped today. I just can’t quite create what has been asked of me to create. I have beginning lines of everything, and although the beginning is a hook to draw people in, if there’s no substance behind it, it falls flat. I often feel that I am falling flat. And I don’t want to fall flat anymore. I don’t want to be on my face anymore. I want to fly. It’s time to use these wings of mine.