About 3 weeks ago, I stumbled upon an article that stopped me in my tracks and had me gnawing on my fingernails. Not because I was nervous––although it is a nervous habit of mine, but because I was undone.
Undone because for the very first time since I became a writer, I was vulnerable and exposed to my self-imposed creative captivity. Why? Because for a long time, I've held the belief that the stars had to align or something (or someone) had to have pity on me and recognize me for taking a step towards what I wanted before I could make it big. I would never admit this if you asked and of course, admitting this to myself didn't feel good. So I looked for any excuse to make me feel better. That I was busy DOING things to help make the shift.
So I desperately searched for any excuse to cling to. Excuse for why I couldn't get up at 3am to write even though I felt the stirrings in my soul. Excuse for why I couldn't post a social media status update to drop little nuggets of "wisdom for the day." Excuse for why I couldn't do a livestream on Facebook. Excuse for why I couldn't send a pitch to the New York Times magazine or another. Excuse for why I couldn't create content for my Instagram account…
And boy did I come up with several.