Once again, it has been over a month since the last posting here. I seem to find myself caught up between wanting to write, and write well, and wondering who is reading and who am I writing for. (As a side note, I think everyone I have talked with who is an aspiring writer has had these same thoughts.)
I suppose, when it all comes down, that I am writing for myself and when I don't write, it is out of fear...fear of being "wrong", fear of not writing well, fear of putting thoughts out there that might confirm that I am not "normal".
It is amazing the power that fear can wield. No one has told me that I am wrong or don't write well. No one has said "I wish you would stop writing because you are way off and I don't like your style". It is an internal voice that persuades me that things are not going to work out the way I want them to. It can be paralyzing.
My mother once told me that she thought I was a perfectionist. I thought she had missed it because things don't have to be perfect for me (check out my college transcript if you doubt me!). She explained that I was a perfectionist in that, if I didn't think I would be very good at something, I would just walk away from it. I would be done with it and not even give it a second thought.
For me, perfectionism is the same thing as fear. No one gets everything right all the time. NO ONE! I know this and still, I hesitate. I hedge. I talk myself out of opportunities and dreams because...well, because. Fear slips in and continues to back me away from things that God may have laid in front of me.
I am working on it. I have several irons in the fire that could become reality and they scare me a bit. I am doing my best to trust God and His hand on my life. I am asking Him for boldness believing that He will answer.
Peace.
1 comment:
What would it be like if you believed you could not fail. Sure you might make a mistake, but in the end you can't fail. What if we believed we were the righteous who prospered in all that we do. What if we really believed that we were like a tree planted by streams of water, that yielded its fruit in its season and its leaf does not wither? The righteous live by faith. What does that mean? Could it mean that God has made us sufficient for what he puts in our hearts to dream? Could it mean that he is for us, for our dreams, for our efforts.
What would it be like if we really thought those things to be true?
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