In the car, I share with my 16 year old daughter a new idea I have. “Let’s make a vision board together.” She responds with an alarmingly monotone, “why”? “Well because”, I explain; “we can get out our goals and see what we are working toward.” “Like what”, she inquires. “You know, like I want to write a book someday.”, I say.
She proceeds to tell me she knows her goals and doesn’t really need to do this and I should just write the book. I tell her that I don’t even know how to start. Her response? A deadpan (just like her dad) response…”Just sit down at the computer and start writing.” Essentially, just do it.
What? I am really busy studying; introspecting; living life; being mom; working; yoga-ing; justifying; giving ALL of the reasons why I can’t. Why I won’t. Why I haven’t. I can start but then what. What if I can’t find my direction? What if it turns out to be a pile of nonsense that no one cares to read?
I have spent the last two weeks dwelling on what is not. Pondering my failures and fears, really soaking in the muck. One of the biggest things that I have physically felt is the literal hard to swallow feeling when I am holding back what is inside of me. Too much holding back for the appeasement and approval of others. Yuck. I don’t want to feel this all the days of my life.
I’d rather let it out. Speak my story. Maybe it’s just part of my healing process, perhaps the writing is only for me. I don’t know. I’ll never know if I keep holding myself back in countless ways.
Freedom. It’s what I’ve wanted for an eternity. Expansion over waste. Filling up my space with no apologies and genuine confidence. I want this. I think.
Do I really have to do more than talk? (Oh sweet Alice, you do. You certainly do.)