But I write all the time.
What am I afraid of and why?
I’m trying to put my finger on what the fear really is. I’ve got vocabulary, spelling (spellcheck is always at hand), perhaps a bit of style and generally I’m not short of words.
So what gives? Why do I feel that I’ve not been free to write content that is mine? Why can I write out of obligation on behalf of other people? What’s so uncomfortable about ONLY ghost writing. When my name doesn’t go on the line.
Getting the word out - Seth Godin, FEBRUARY 3, 2019
Alas, awareness is not action.
Everyone reading this is aware that Peru is a country. But that doesn’t mean you’ve visited recently, or have plans to go soon.
Everyone reading this is aware that turnips are a root vegetable. But knowing they exist doesn’t mean you’re going to have them for dinner.
Awareness is important, but it is insufficient.
Action comes from tension, desire and fear. Action is the hard part.
So why now? Why start writing now…
Tension, desire and fear lead to action I agree. Apparently there is enough of each at this moment.
What is the tension?
Instability of finance sure. Awareness that I’ll not fit into a 9-5 office job, yes. Acknowledging that I’ve made a lot of starts and stops, that too. AND simply facing the facts that if not now, then when, if not me - then who will be the one to show up as me, the one, the only Tim Griffin.
What is the desire?
Good question. Wondering if I’m glad you asked ;-)
Freedom. An honest expression of myself the big, little, core and extraneous parts and pieces that make up me.
What is the fear?
*being boxed in to letters on a flimsy piece of paper.
*I want to write about work, for clients and the services I offer, how I can serve them more; I’m afraid to let these seemingly small things define who I am.
*I want to express the depths of relationship and reality that I experienced in another world and perhaps have already begun to do that. Even that feels limiting on some level as there is more to me than a snippet or story of past experiences, present relationships reduced to words on a page.
*I want to write to my children but fear rejection or misunderstanding and conflict.
That’s dumb. That fear is dumb.
I have a letter my dad wrote me, hand written and gave me on my wedding day. I’ve read it once or twice in twenty years. I carry it in my mind and have repeatedly reflected on the gift of my dads words - as mixed and injected with a world view that is his and may not be fully mine; it’s him and I treasure that.
Writing is hard I’ve been told. And though not afraid or working - I don’t like starting things that won’t be finished in short order. Doggedly focusing on a specific item until it is complete is a strength and sometimes a curse.
I want to write stories. Fantasy and facts. Truth and whimsy. What keeps me from flexing that muscle atrophied or not? Who’s holding me hostage and forcing me to go without pencil, paper and keyboard.
No one. But me.
Embrace the mess. Start showing up. Then start again.