ACKNOWLEDGING THE VOICE OF DOUBT AND GOING FOR IT ANYWAY

I remember the first time I read a few pages of my work out loud. I was in front of a class of fellow fledgling authors, all enrolled in a creative writing course, and I was terrified.

I could barely catch my breath. It felt as though I'd run up a flight of stairs - full tilt - not walked the short distance from my seat to the front of the room. My hands were sweating (and shaking), and my heart was pounding so loud I wasn't sure anyone would hear my voice over the sonorous thud of it.

When I finally did start to read, it was as though I placed each word - and me along with it - on some sacraficial altar.

That was years ago now, and what I read has likely been edited out of existence, yet the fear - the intense insecurity around whether my writing is good enough - remains. And the fear that in spite of all the time and all the effort, the story might not go anywhere is equally real.

But here's the thing. I don't know for certain. Each of those thoughts is just that, a thought.

And all that really matters is whether I believe them.

Up until recently, I did. The voice of doubt was like a thunderclap.

And I feared rejection most of all. Who doesn't? Yet rejection would mean I had tried. Not being rejected would mean I hadn't tried at all. I'd be safe, but at what cost?

So here's the shift: I've come to understand that our brains are designed to protect us, to keep us comfortable. Putting work out into the world - creative or otherwise - is scary. So, our brains attempt to keep us safe. Yet living, really living, requires risk - not the jumping out of airplanes kind of risk, unless that's your jam - but true growth doesn't happen when you are standing still (unless you actually have roots).

So, I can choose to be the rock, or I can be the river.

I've made my choice. How about you?