Three years since I first started blogging, I’m beginning to get a glimpse of the phantoms that real writers battle:
The illusion that, regardless of what happened yesterday, today you’ll have nothing to say.
The twinge of loss when you write something worth writing.
The pain of putting an idea out into the world.
The fear that something has left you that you can’t get back
It is like giving away anything real and true – love or friendship or money or some other long-treasured thing. Our mind tricks us into feeling that these things we give away are ours, that they are finite, that the safest thing to do is to cling to them fiercely.
Over and over we practice creating and letting go. We practice being open. We dare to strive to be our best selves, reaching so far that we are exposed and vulnerable. And yes, sometimes we fail. Our leap comes up short. We crash into the chasm and end up sore, bruised and limping.
But mostly we discover that what we give away is a reflection of the abundance within us, is proof of our grace and all that we have to give.
So we sit back down again, ready to wrestle the illusion of scarcity to the ground, never giving up or giving in.