I am a fearful person. I am afraid of heights, water, rejection, boats, planes, strangers, earwigs, centipedes, failure and a few other, trivial things I encounter on a regular basis. Like any other person existing on this planet, I deal with them as they arise and move forward, because, really – why wouldn’t you?
I believed I understood, not only my own fears, but “fear” as a concept. Fight or flight? Check!
However, I have stumbled anew upon that unwelcome tingling that starts in your toes and permeates its way up your spinal cord into the tiny hub of the brain that acts as our emergency warning system. It blasts sirens and uses a bullhorn to alert you of impending danger and bullies you to evacuate the area.
I have a dream. I dream, secretly, of being a writer. I have always held it as a secret dream, never sharing this desire with others for to do so would open me to those who would say it’s not realistic, thus shattering the intense pleasure of the dream-state. Throughout my existence, I have had a flair for the dramatic, an artist’s eye and a way with words. In writing, I am able to temper my first responses and eloquently assimilate experiences, creatively resolving crises, absolving myself of the trash that clutters my mind and my judgment. I am fortunate to have excelled in both my education and my career(s), using my prowess with words, but it has never been satisfying; fulfillment is always just beyond my reach.
When I wrote my short story, my very first: “Haunted by Silence“, I felt compelled to share it with the world on my blog, but as I hovered my mouse over the post button, a new fear entered my stream of consciousness: the fear of exposing myself, opening my creative spirit up to criticism…wow. I was crippled by that fear. I sat in front of my work, reading, previewing, adjusting, tweaking, undoing. Finally parting with it, allowing it to be set free to take on a life of its own, was as difficult as allowing my child to step beyond the scope of my sight for the first time.
Today, I understand the difference between nervous and genuine fear.
But today, I also learned the meaning of content. I felt the staggering whoosh of relief and the hissing release of a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding for almost 16 hours since hitting that wretched button. I learned that part of being a writer is to risk. Part of writing is letting go. Once released to the blog-o-sphere I must allow myself to disconnect from that fear and experience the true joy of having created something original. Focus on the triumph.
Today, I gained acceptance in this creative, writing macrocosm called WordPress. I have bared my soul, divulging my innermost self to strangers, risking disapproval and failure on a grand scale and come out the other side, unscathed.
inspired by the Daily Prompt.