It's Not About Fearlessness
"It's not fearlessness, it's practice."
That's what I told her,
after she said she wanted to share
more of her writing with the world
but didn't feel fearless enough.
It's not fearlessness, but learning
to relate to my fear in new ways,
a process that looks and feels
different each day.
I reminded her that I started
sharing my writing publicly
15 years ago, with the explicit
intention (to myself)
of not waiting to get it right,
not waiting to figure out
exactly what I wanted to say
and how best to say it.
This resulted and continues to result
in moments of squirming and discomfort,
occasional vulnerability hangovers,
and lots of chances to get to know
my mind and how much it loves
to spin stories, usually wherein
people are judging me.
Truth is, usually they're not.
Or more to the point, they're probably not
thinking anything about me at all
since they are too busy thinking
about themselves and their own fears.
Think about all the things
we keep from the world
that might shift things, stir things up,
alter the course of our day
or someone else's, kick open a door,
clear the cobwebs, light a match,
or just keep someone else company
in their own quiet storms.
All the things we never write,
because we don't think we're good enough,
not ready, not not not,
all the knots that we pull tighter
and tighter until the whole thing seems
hopeless and we give up on ourselves,
leave the writing and sharing
to others.
So many writers I look to and think,
oh, to write like them, to write like that.
Every now and then, I do
write something I love,
and the rest of the time, I write
so much dreck (a useful Yiddish word).
This, I can say with some confidence,
is true for every single writer you admire.
It's not about fearlessness.
It's not about not giving any fucks,
despite the pithiness and popularity of that expression.
It's not about being impervious
to other people's opinions.
It is about doing it anyway, and little by little
(by little by little) realizing that the rewards
outweigh the risks, like that Anais Nin
quote about the bud and the blossom (you can Google it).
Is this a poem?
Clearly not, certainly not
anything I would bother revising
or sending out to a literary publication.
Are you judging me?
Probably not, though if you are,
I wonder what the judgment would be,
and also, it's none of my business.
Is there something absolutely liberating
in letting your fingers fly over
the keyboard without carefully placing
each syllable under intense scrutiny?
You know it.
Is there a difference between this
kind of writing
and the kind when you actually DO
have to take your time, write and rewrite,
edit and craft?
Of course.
That's part of it, too.
The more you write the junky bits,
the easier it becomes to discern
what to keep and what to compost.
Start.
Share.
Breathe.
Take a walk
or lie down on the ground
and if at all possible, feel the sun on your face.
