For many months, I’ve been holding back on writing anything because I simply don’t know what I would say or how I would say it. Spending endless hours staring at the pen and paper sitting patiently in front of me, unable to translate my feelings into words.
I got a reminder from a dear friend of mine recently who is also an artist. “Art is like a muscle; if you don’t exercise it, you’ll lose it.” A bit aggressive but definitely a much needed reminder, especially for a perfectionist such as myself. I tend to put off writing, drawing or even publishing something until it is “perfectly perfect” and “at the right time” (whatever that means).
But my biggest fear currently is that I simply won’t make sense. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried reading a book and have lost interest within the first couple of pages simply because the message or theme is unclear. It’s a bad habit and it seems to feed into my own illusion of perfection. I’m projecting, obviously. Ironically enough, as I observe my mind and the things I come to formulate through my own struggle, I am learning how much I run away from the very things I desire most. In order to be received you first have to surrender yourself over. In order to be heard you first have to speak up. To be loved is to be seen, yet I hide.
So, this is where I plunge into the terrifying unknown because if I have to be perfectly honest with everyone, I’ve been ready for a long time. I’ve had art ready to be published for months. But this is me waiting for “the right time” and this is also me realizing that there is no right time. There’s only today and tomorrow, and the day after and the day after that. Today is December 2nd and today is good enough.