It’s been a few weeks since my last blog. Ironically, I received a complimentary e-mail about the last one from an old family friend. It was certainly nice to read, if for no other reason than to confirm that people do actually read what I post, but it also had a disarming way of influencing what happened next. I can offer a list of reasons as to why I haven’t written one since, but the fact is part of the reason I didn’t is because I made it out to be harder than it actually is.
I have a friend who writes a blog everyday. He gets up, he sits down, he writes, he’s done. And his blogs are always good. Some are longer ones, some are short. Some have more a direct purpose-speaking specifically of an event or a person, let’s say-and others are less focused and more carefree, just celebrating the fortunate life that he has. And I get jealous when he tells me that for him it’s just that easy. Not even easy, anymore, but just so much a part of his routine that he doesn’t over think like I do.
Nobody likes to fail, to find themselves coming up short. And there are a million old sayings that have as their core the thought that failure only comes from not trying. But none of them keep me from constantly judging and questioning what I write. I want everything I write to be inspiring and thought-provoking. To paraphrase P.T. Barnum, I want to please all of the people all of the time. But in trying to do so, I end up pleasing none of them, because I end up doing nothing.
It doesn’t have to be that hard, though. I got up today and in a 2 and half hour period I had breakfast, did laundry, went to the grocery store, cleaned the kitchen and read the paper. It was a piece of cake to do. Why? Because I didn’t over think it, which became obvious when I got home from the grocery store to realize I forgot to buy cheese. These were things that had to be done, and to some degree I wanted to get done. Don’t get confused: I don’t really look forward to chores and errands. But I wanted clean clothes and kitchen. I wanted specific food for the next few days. And when all of it was done, I felt, not just confident, but excited.
I’m not trying to celebrate accomplishing things we do every day or week. I’m just marveling at how easy it is to get things done when you realize it doesn’t have to be hard. Writing is easy. I only make it hard because I find myself dwelling on old insecurities. And so I have to remind myself that somethings I write will be better than others, and somethings I write will stink like week old fish. The only way I know, though, that it will eventually become better is to keep on doing it.
Because in the end, what would I rather be more proud of, clean underwear or being an accomplished writing?
PopcornJackTerry 