The Paper Wall

Have I already shared that I am really very super incredibly terrified about leaving my job?  I still can’t believe that I started my own company.  Who am I?  At least once a day, and it is more like several times a day, my heart stops and time stands still for an excruciating second.  I think, “OH SHIT, what am I doing?” 

 

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’ve never experienced fear before in my life.  But this is different (or so we always say about Present Fear, to distinguish it from Past Fear).  It does though, feel different. 

 

Past Fear was generally about unpleasantness, or more specifically (and sadly), it was fear that a situation will not end up in my favor.  It ranged from the legitimate.  “Will I pass the bar?” Will I get the job?”  To the universal.  “Will I see this person again?”  “Will I get this apartment?”  To the absurd.  “Will I get tickets before they sell out?  I will die if I don’t see this band for the fifth time.” “Will I win this ebay auction?  My life will be over if I don’t win this goddamn battery charger.  I can’t stand another day without my laptop.”

 

Stress filled days of anxiety.  I mean, really.  I had to get my way that much.  And not getting what I wanted was very, very unacceptable.  I guess it was about control.  Having control is apparently something I had a death grip on because I did not know how to deal with my unhappiness. 

 

Well, Present Fear is a bit different.  I have no idea what awaits me in the end.  I have no idea what I am looking for.  You know, I don’t even know what I am supposed to be looking for.  I get a clue here or there.  Mostly though, I am guided by my instincts and feelings.  It’s quite a departure for me to follow amorphous feelings. 

 

An uncertain future, mind you, doesn’t operate like MapQuest directions, where the start, finish and every turn along the way is clearly explained and illustrated.  Instead, I only get the next step right as I encounter it.  I’m talking about not knowing whether I need to make a left, a right or go straight until I am HALFWAY THROUGH the intersection.  Then POP!  I got it.  Left is where I need to go.  It always comes, but not a split second before I actually need to act on it. 

 

It makes sense in an odd sort of way though.  Why would I have carefully mapped out directions if I don’t know where I’m going.  Duh. 

 

Planned spontaneity.  “Oh hello, ding ding ding, over here, that’s me.”  What an oxymoron.  Well can we say, no mas.  For now, I tell myself daily to just go, get started, keep scooting and trust that I’ll know how to navigate right as it comes up.  The signs come, they always do.

 

Slowing down or stopping doesn’t help me figure it out any better.  Nor does it bring the directions any faster.  It’s like those drivers ahead of you who slow down to a ridiculous speed when trying to find their destination.  People don’t really accomplish anything with that maneuver, except to look like total assfaces.  Well, I’ve been living my life on that pace because I am afraid that I will miss a cue and make an assface of myself.  On my really bad days, it’s not even a “slowing down”, it’s pretty much a complete halt.  Those days, I don’t leave the house, I don’t do jack shit and I don’t get anywhere.   

 

Speaking of signs that I should be watching out for, I was rear ended last week.  There I was, sitting at a red light, minding my own business when this chick crashes into the back of my car.  I mentioned this to a friend, saying “oh isn’t it funny that I got in another accident, I guess life is trying to remind me to slow down.”  She actually responded, “um, no. You were at a complete stop and someone slammed into you.  Don’t you think life is trying to get you moving?”  Good point. 

I guess it's finally time to start my trip.  I can't worry about where I'm going or about getting there as quickly as possibl.  I may even take the scenic route this time.  It's actually a relief to not take the interestate.  It's really congested, and to be honest, it's kind of ugly.  This trip's about going for the sake of the journey.  No itinerary.  I'm going to get up and start driving wherever i damn well please.
 

 

I could be a genius, if I put my mind to it. And I could do anything, if only I could get around to it.

 

Jarvis Cocker, in Glory Days

 

 

I’ve wanted be a writer since I was fifteen and I’m really excited about writing this column. But as I actually sit down to write it, I feel as if I have nothing important to say.  I’m blocked, terrified, and overwhelmed by the pressure.

 

I'm afraid if I finally let my ideas out of my head, they'll be half-baked, insipid, and totally juvenile. I think law school beat all the creativity out of me and I’m never gonna write anything interesting ever again. What if I discover I'm, at best, a good editor with a knack for spelling and a large vocabulary? I’m freaking out because I can’t herd the flock of voices in my head together long enough to write this silly little article.

 

I’m tempted to just stay in my cave of status quo safeness and not produce a damn thing, even though I was miserable the way things were before. This way I won’t have to suffer the humiliation of exposing my little brainchildren to others’ critiques. I think my English degree from a “really good school” only heightens others' expectations of my writing. People may think I’ve been trained for this and I should know what I’m doing, but I know taking classes to critique others’ masterpieces doesn't automatically make me a good writer.

 

I feel scattered, anxious and terrified because I am finally making myself walk the walk. It’s much safer to tell people, “Poor me, I got stuck being an unhappy lawyer, but I could be a writer if only things were different.” Then I can putz around with some half-assed failed attempts and take it to the next level say “Well, I really am a writer at heart, but I’m blocked. See, I tried.”

 

Basically, if I don’t produce anything, no one can judge me and I’m safe from criticism and failure. And if I fail, I get pity and sympathy. So I continue stew in the fear and unhappiness that have become familiar and safe.

 

I even call this a “silly little article” because I am scared to admit I desperately want it to be good. Writing could actually bring me happiness.  I’m afraid to fail at it and lose hope for my future. I say I believe the universe will come to meet me halfway if I just give this a good faith effort.  But I'm afraid it won't and I'll fall on my face. And then everyone will give me that look as if to say “I told you so.”

 

I realize I can’t create because my fear of failure is stifling my voice. I chastise the little voice inside my head when it pleads to be heard or explore its passions. I don’t trust myself and fear following it will make me look foolish. Only I think that voice is my authentic self that has been locked away for years is and weak from lack of use. I need to start following its guidance to strengthen it.  I’m excited to see where it can take me.

 

For now, I tell myself to be nice to myself and that it’s ok to want happiness. It’s ok to go out there and be a writer, painter, printmaker.  Whatever it is that will make me happy. I remind myself the risk of the embarrassment, of picking myself up and dusting myself off should I fall, is well worth the reward of exploring the possibility of a different kind of life I’d actually enjoy living.

 

I don’t want to wait any longer.  The voice in my head keeps getting louder.  I used to convince myself that I’ll eventually be brave enough to follow it someday.  But if not now, that day will keep getting farther away and may never come.