I just need to get over myself
A familiar taste
Hello, I’m a little bit shy.
It’s funny how it happens. Now, I can watch and observe as it takes shape, sit with the discomfort in ways that I could not before. I don’t feel shy in front of you, dear reader, just to clarify. No, I feel shy in my personal relationship with the page, the paper, Google Docs, and my Notes app. The dynamic between me and my inner monologue, or perhaps my tone of voice (the one who creates a sense of familiarity from building sentences out of my words), feels a little fractured. It’s the same any time I take a break. Before, it was what successfully deterred me from the path. Made me stop, give up, give in. The smallest of setbacks a magnifying glass for failure that I was unable to get over. I don’t feel the same as I used to, but still, it can be hard to pick back up and get going again.
I am often torn between reality and the idea that not writing, even because of a holiday, or illness, or when the words just simply won’t come, means I am not a writer. Not even an aspiring one. That if I can bear not to write for any extended length of time, I don’t love it enough, or want it enough, or care about it in the right way. The perceived judgement of others wriggles itself into each small crack of self-doubt that appears in my facade. The negativity I hold for myself is the star of the show, however. Ready and willing to assist me in giving up at any opportunity.
The only way is to do. To get over myself, swallow my pride, and try. Every child growing up in the 90s had Michael Rosen telling us so. We’re Going on a Bear Hunt… we can’t ignore it, we can’t avoid it, we have to go through it!
I think I hate it. Maybe I should just delete it and start over. I can’t bring it all together. I’ve lost my cue cards and I don’t know what to say but the stage lights are glaring into my soul so improvise I must. The show must go on! And I must stop talking in phrases and idioms.
So, yes. Last week, I struggled and didn’t manage to share anything at all with you. I was tongue-tied and still a bit off-kilter settling back into normal routine.
I went to the Summer Exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts. An annual exhibition that’s been held for over 250 years has various kinds of works in different mediums from famous artists and members of the public. You can even buy pieces yourself, too. It’s on until next Sunday if you fancy a visit.
I was particularly taken by the small-scale architectural models. For a time, I wanted to be an architect. I drew countless floor plans of my dream house, even adding in all the furniture I wanted to scale. Then I wondered about what could have been in another life. I find it almost easy to answer, overwhelmed with a million different ideas! A million Plaths (haha) I could think about and mourn and dwell on. Architect. Interior designer. Actress. All genuine dreams I once had. Imagine.
My new prompt on Hinge is “what do you want to be when you grow up?” We’re not grown yet. There are still dreams to be had and oh so many paths to contemplate and decide. Each day, decisions are made whether we like it or not. Inaction is still a decision.
I am up, I am standing, I am ready, I am engaging, I am writing, and here it is, something I wrote for you.
