Fear and Writing

My initial idea when I started this blog last year was to face my fears and to stop saying things like "I can't" and "I shouldn't." Though I have done a poor job of blogging about it, I've done a reasonable job at my initial mission. As it turns out, all of this is largely about paying attention to myself in the moment and listening to what I really want, rather than the voice in my head that reflects what I think others think I should do.

I've realized lately, though, that there is one huge tangled mess of dreams, and fear, and can't, and should that I have most certainly not addressed. I want to write. The obvious solution would be to, well, write. But it is a little more complicated than that.

For one, I feel like a fraud and a failure almost all the time. When someone asks me what I do, I always say "Librarian." This is a perfectly acceptable answer because this is what I do for a living and I really enjoy my job. Inside my head, I always scream, "I'm a person who was meant to be a writer!" I feel acutely embarrassed, as if the person will see through me. Or worse, they might ask to see something I've written! This is particularly bad when I'm talking to a friend in a creative field and even worse when I talk to one of my successful writer friends.

I've been spending a little more time at home lately. This is a healthy, adult thing to do and has been good for my mental stability in many ways. At the end of a relaxing or productive evening, I always feel a little bit unsatisfied. I could have been writing. I should have been writing. These are coulds and shoulds that come from the depth of my being, not from some idea I have about what others think.

For a long time now, I've had an anxiety associated with writing. I'll have all sorts of ideas when I'm at work, or walking the dog, or washing dishes. As soon as I sit down in front of a blank writing surface (notebook, empty word document, blank blog post, etc.), my mind goes blank. That very thing happened to me with this blog post. I was cleaning the house and it came fully formed into my mind. As soon as I sat down, it was gone and I have been sitting here for an embarrassingly long time attempting to recreate it.

It used to be that I could write well on demand. I loved school and work writing assignments because they would get me in gear and force me to create. Lately, even that is torturous. I am rusty.

And so, that is what this blog is going to be about for the next little while: scraping off the rust.

Photo from my own collection. Taken in the London Library, London, UK.