As a creatively minded individual, I yearn to interact with the world around me and the people who inhabit it; to share with them a piece of myself in the hopes that the story I tell, the picture I paint, the song I sing, or the character I pretend to be will bring joy to their lives... if only for a moment. At the very least I'd like to force them outside of the mundane and leave them standing, slack-jawed, with that "what the fuck?!" look on their face; to give them a brief yet entertaining respite from the banal topics normally shared over dinner or drinks.
The problem with this desire is that, more often than not, sharing is a difficult thing to do.
The problem with this desire is that, more often than not, sharing is a difficult thing to do.
It is fear that makes my previous statement true. The fear of rejection, the fear of failure, and the fear that we will never live up to the vision of greatness and perfection that we cling to in our own minds. Sharing ourselves with others, especially the fruits of our creativity, means reaching into a place that is more than personal. It means drawing from the very font of who we are and taking that place inside us where we are most ourselves and displaying it for the world to see.
That sacred ground, for most of us, is constantly besieged by self-imposed demons with names like insecurity, poor self-image, and worthlessness that harry us and whisper to us, even in the face of our vast potential. They speak to us with poisoned tongues and in voices remarkably like our own; convincing us that what we do will never mean anything to anyone and that we shouldn't even bother. I believe this is a struggle with which we can all empathize on one level or another.
That sacred ground, for most of us, is constantly besieged by self-imposed demons with names like insecurity, poor self-image, and worthlessness that harry us and whisper to us, even in the face of our vast potential. They speak to us with poisoned tongues and in voices remarkably like our own; convincing us that what we do will never mean anything to anyone and that we shouldn't even bother. I believe this is a struggle with which we can all empathize on one level or another.
This struggle between passion and inhibition, or more accurately, the losing of this struggle is what has defined my creative endeavors for far longer than I care to recall or admit. Projects such as this blog, which has been more than a year in seeing fruition, were squashed by the weight of my insecurity and fear.
I had, for the longest time, intended to return to the habit of writing consistently when the idea of starting a blog came to me. A blog and the development of regular content would include consistent, if not daily, writing as well as pushing me to be more than a casual observer of my own life. I would need to be an active participant; cataloging my experiences and observations. It was the perfect exercise to redevelop and hone my skill after so many years away from the craft.
Despite all of the positive reasons to start a blog, I did not. Every time I sat down with the intention of starting I talked myself out of doing so. There were important factors that needed to be considered, after all. There was the question of content. There was the question of style and demographic. Also, there were logos, backgrounds, layouts, and designs to think about. These things were all valid concerns and issues that needed serious consideration I told myself, rationalizing. Address these issues and then... then I'd be ready. And so I kept my words inside my head and left my page blank; the cursor blinking expectantly.
It became a psychological match of tug-o-war; one with which I was all too familiar. On one side of the mental rope stood that lone part of me whose greatest desire is to be that which I have always dreamed I could. On the other side stood the legion of demons and monsters spawned from everything I had ever experienced that told me it could never be. Like so many times before, the two sides snapped and clawed at each other snarling fiercely with unbridled hate. The solitary part of me feral and lean from years of starvation; deprived of substance. The beasts masked in the disapproving faces of my life's naysayers; most of them wearing my own.
And so it went for the turning of an age, in what passes for time across the landscape of the heart and of the mind.
Recently, I've been lucky enough not to fight alone. I've made and reconnected with close friends; the kind that know you to your core. Soul-kin, if you will, and their supportive and encouraging voices began to join mine in my fight. My passion and desire no longer stood alone. And though my demons greatly outnumbered my friends and I, their lies and falsehoods could not outweigh the veracity of our fight. In the end I had to admit that all of the "concerns" and "considerations" that kept me from putting myself out there were nothing more than excuses to justify my fears of failure and rejection.
So here I am. Standing at the edge of the unknown with that little piece of my psyche that believes I can be great riding shotgun on my shoulder; looking out over the swamp of insecurity and doubt that has swallowed the vehicle of that greatness. I know that it's time to reach into myself and find the strength to pull that ship out of the muck in which it is mired; the strength that I know is there and that my friends see. If I don't... I'll never reach the stars.
Thanks for reading, blogland. It has been a very great pleasure to finally meet you.
-D
I had, for the longest time, intended to return to the habit of writing consistently when the idea of starting a blog came to me. A blog and the development of regular content would include consistent, if not daily, writing as well as pushing me to be more than a casual observer of my own life. I would need to be an active participant; cataloging my experiences and observations. It was the perfect exercise to redevelop and hone my skill after so many years away from the craft.
Despite all of the positive reasons to start a blog, I did not. Every time I sat down with the intention of starting I talked myself out of doing so. There were important factors that needed to be considered, after all. There was the question of content. There was the question of style and demographic. Also, there were logos, backgrounds, layouts, and designs to think about. These things were all valid concerns and issues that needed serious consideration I told myself, rationalizing. Address these issues and then... then I'd be ready. And so I kept my words inside my head and left my page blank; the cursor blinking expectantly.
It became a psychological match of tug-o-war; one with which I was all too familiar. On one side of the mental rope stood that lone part of me whose greatest desire is to be that which I have always dreamed I could. On the other side stood the legion of demons and monsters spawned from everything I had ever experienced that told me it could never be. Like so many times before, the two sides snapped and clawed at each other snarling fiercely with unbridled hate. The solitary part of me feral and lean from years of starvation; deprived of substance. The beasts masked in the disapproving faces of my life's naysayers; most of them wearing my own.
And so it went for the turning of an age, in what passes for time across the landscape of the heart and of the mind.
Recently, I've been lucky enough not to fight alone. I've made and reconnected with close friends; the kind that know you to your core. Soul-kin, if you will, and their supportive and encouraging voices began to join mine in my fight. My passion and desire no longer stood alone. And though my demons greatly outnumbered my friends and I, their lies and falsehoods could not outweigh the veracity of our fight. In the end I had to admit that all of the "concerns" and "considerations" that kept me from putting myself out there were nothing more than excuses to justify my fears of failure and rejection.
So here I am. Standing at the edge of the unknown with that little piece of my psyche that believes I can be great riding shotgun on my shoulder; looking out over the swamp of insecurity and doubt that has swallowed the vehicle of that greatness. I know that it's time to reach into myself and find the strength to pull that ship out of the muck in which it is mired; the strength that I know is there and that my friends see. If I don't... I'll never reach the stars.
Thanks for reading, blogland. It has been a very great pleasure to finally meet you.
-D
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