I write in simple rhythms of blue and gray. Quiet and uninhabiting, bordering on apologetic. I slide into the back row, taking notes, hoping to go unnoticed. I leave my heart under my sleeve as I listen to wordsmiths spinning their wheel.
I am jealous of them and in the same breath think, ‘I could do that. I’m good enough.’ But I flounder in this back row. I chastise myself for the wasted moments, thoughts, weeks…for all the could’ves that should have been. I tell myself, “Later. There’ll be time later.”
But what if there isn’t?
What if I keep using the same excuses? What if I can’t find the balance between writing and living words? What if I continue to let Fear wrap itself around my waist, cinched tight as a budding antebellum belle? I keep waiting for an “Aha!,” a moment to break the cycle.
But what if the breaking comes in the stepping out?
We’re in this life transition. Moving from Kentucky to South Carolina (I feel my Southern roots drawing deeper), our family is not yet burdened by a set schedule. We haven’t quite formed a routine. So my husband, in his generousity, is giving me (more like telling me) a week to devote to writing. I’m to go somewhere and just write. Write, edit, research.
After all those times I’ve muttered, “I just wish I could write 9 to 5,” I’ll have my chance. I’m scared. What if I mess it up? What if I can’t stay focused? What if the words don’t come? What if I waste a week?
I keep thinking I need to come up with a plan, but I don’t know where to start.
Where would you?
How do you break the cycle of fear and self-pressure and 20 years of stalled dreaming?