It is really rather pathetic of me. I have finally embraced the truth that God has created me to be a writer, yet many days I avoid the keyboard. It’s as if the potential for failure to effectively communicate is so great that it is easier to just not go there.
The voices in my head shouting “who would want to read what you write anyway” are so very loud. The reality that most of what I read remains safely tucked away in my computer away from critics and naysayers makes placing new words on a page seem rather pointless.
But the words, the stories, the life lessons that have left behind telling scars bounce around in my head incessantly and at times it is as if they are screaming to be released in rounded black spheres and slants on the page.
Why does one write? Why should one write?
Asking those questions seem counter productive, once again leading to paralyzation.
The cold hard truth is this, where might writing take the purveyor of words. To hard places, to “don’t say that out loud” places, to “why is that even in my head” places, to “you are not really a writer, you delude yourself” places.
And then, of course, there’s the wondering what the eyes that receive the words might “think” oh my, we musn’t upset any apple carts here.
How childlike. How paralyzing.
Is this why many never get up out of their comfortable chair or cease repeating each day’s pile of pointless rote habits. Safety.
Comfort in the familiar battles fear of the unknown and mockingly shouts victory day after day. The truth is this epic battle against fear is fought daily by each of us.
What we have been called by God to do screams for completion while we disobediently slip into the comfortable and familiar.
We are all shuffling through life wearing our threadbare, well worn bedroom slippers.