I’ve been sitting for several minutes staring at the blank, white screen in front of me, that familiar band of tightness in my gut. All the regular excuses and worries come out to play.
“No one is going to read this anyway.”“Who will ever find your blog?”“There are other writers doing this already … and doing it better.”“Who are you to think that you can do this?”
Ah, that last one is a sure sign that I’m on the right path. When my incredulous inner critic asks “who are you to …” or “who do you think you are?” then I can be certain I’m doing the right work.That doesn’t make it easier, necessarily. In fact, it usually makes it harder.
Doing the “right work,” is very often doing the hard work. The work that your soul craves, the work that Spirit asks of you. It’s easier to do the other work—that work that feels good and logical and makes sense (and maybe money) and doesn’t require a lot of your guts on display.
But this is the work that won’t leave me alone. It dogs my steps and inspires me, despite my efforts to remain immune to it. It calls me in the middle of the night when I’m tossing and turning. It comes with frustration and fear and lots and lots of self-doubt.
I want to do the other work. The work that stays on the surface of things, that is logical and teachable and can be backed up by hard facts and experts and sometimes even science. But this is not that type of work.
Instead, this requires an adventurer’s heart, a child’s belief system and the ability to delve deeply below the surface of life and into its core. It’s messy (and I don’t really like messy) and complicated and beautiful all in one.