A Hi-Five for Trying
Not a lot, just everything I try to hide from myself.
I write to understand what I think— but mainly, to establish to myself, that I’m thinking at all.
This month, I have had trouble writing, and the implications are dim. This is the probably the sixth draft, I’ve wrote over the last two weeks. Feeling infinitely inadequate, trapped in the wake of my conscious becoming conscious of itself. I question if I can even write at all, I measure myself up against the outcome I want, and slippery with exhaustion, I wrestle my doubts. Writing is a way of training, to “pin myself down” in ink.
But, let me tell you what! Here it is. The Big One. The secret I try to keep from myself, so I’ll say it in a whisper. I’ve procrastinated my writing because I’m scared.
I’m afraid of being seen as :
Silly
Too much
Frivolous
Under-qualfied
Juvenile
Unintelligent
Above all, the fear of being misunderstood has suffocated any bud of ambition, to contribute a single post this month.
In journaling, these are angles in the mirror I try to hide from you and more than anyone else, myself. So here it is, my rebellion, to be scared and do it none the less. I suppose this is the proof, I show to my insecurity, when I ask what bravery looks like.
Like a shadow cast from a distance, fear always appears larger than the thing itself. So I pen this, staring into the light, to remove the anonymity of any darkness that could linger. Now you know what’s lying in my shadows.
This post, I write for the sake of writing . To show that I have thoughts that think. To share what’s on my mind. To ask “why?” would be null and void (or maybe I’m aversive to the question cause I’m still attempting to figure it out). I’m not sure everything needs a reason “to be”. Go try asking, why the bird sings or the sun shines.
The feeling of inadequacy, is a surely a human trait. How wonderful it’d be to not resist the gravity that is pulling all of us to the understanding that, we’re all only trying our best. Maybe this is why they gave gold stars, to the whole class in elementary. Trying is some times the lesson to be rewarded. I’m warming up to the idea that fear, is neither good or bad, it is just a part of having a human experience.
I believe there is enough room, for failing and succeeding and flailing. Let our shortcomings lead us to more compassion and depth of life. These will be the badges we receive for our participation. We will work on the things we love, and the things we love will work on us. Let there be a reverie, for the whole range of human expression.
So, like letters written in the sky, I write to you: You’re allowed to be scared, and do it anyway. (I hope you do.)
A Gallery: People, Fear and The Creative Process
Maybe the best medicine for fear and the creative process, is to practice it, and watch others model their own intimacy with it.
Frenchman, Philippe Petit, walked alongside the fear of what-ifs, on a high wire more than 1,300 feet in the air, suspended between the tops of the Twin Towers of the old World Trade Center.
Pleased to learn that Miyazaki (Japanese animator, filmmaker, and manga artist) and I have the same creative process.
I would love to hear what resonates, and reverberates with you. Please, PLEASE. Message me, leave me a comment, subscribe. Let’s find a way to connect, in between all the hubabaloo, that lives on this substack.
Tenderly, Brooke
I had a moment of lovely today. You said in all caps to please share so I will here and now.
I whittled a bird out of a block of wood. It took a lot of time, it took about 16 hours total. I felt proud. I feel proud of the progress. what was once a rough sketch on one side of a block of wood turned into a 3-D figure, glossy from the polyurethane coatings I had painted on, standing on its own two feet because I had sanded those two feet so that the figure could stand on them without falling over. The whole experience was a process of little by little. Carve a little bit of wood away here, whittle a little bit away there. All the while, what I was holding in my hands didn’t look like what I wanted. I wanted to give up. I have my doubts. I kept whittling through. Trust the process. Little by little. Every time I said, “ I’m done, this is good enough” bc it had stopped resembling a block of wood and was looking more like a bird. I didn’t want to risk ruining it bc I had come so far. But I decided to keep going and let’s take it even further. And each time, almost by magic, little by little, that bird looks….like it could come to life if placed in a magical cupboard.
So I felt proud. Jennie and Jackie also witnessed the transformation of The bird, from block of wood to glossy, standing on its own two feet. Jackie & Jennie said I was talented and that the bird looked so well-done it could be sold in stores.
Lot of positive feedback. From my own self and from others. So what did I do next? Look for more feedback. Curiosity killed the cat?
What kind of people whittle? I asked the internet search engine.
It’ll probably say, “ people who have tremendous patience, focus and follow-thru are whittlers. To be a whittler, one must possess a certain type of vision, of seeing what’s not there and through sheer will, bringing it forth.”
Whelp.
The internet didn’t say any of those lovely things. What the internet said was this, “ Whittler- someone who whittles (usually as an idle pastime). Do–nothing, idler, layabout, loafer, bum-person who does no work; “ a lazybum “.
Fudge. Popped my bubble. I happen to be..ahem..in-between jobs at the moment… this definition of “whittler” cut me deep and it cut me down. It cut me deep down. .. down deep.
Well, ya know what they say about curiosity and the cat.
I told Jackie & Jennie what the internet said about whittlers.
Here’s the lovely moment.
They said, “ why do you always have to go elsewhere? We already told you you are talented and skilled but then you had to go looking on the computer and for other opinions “
That’s the lovely moment!
Cheers!
Love this. Love your work, love your candid writing, and I love your fear because it keeps you honest and relatable. Once we share our art, it no longer belongs to us. There could be a million different interpretations of it, and millions more, depending on the time and context in which it lands. How did you feel as you wrote it? To me, it felt like you were meeting your fear head on, which takes courage, and after courage, there is hopefully a moment of feeling proud and empowered. Do it again and again and again so you can see which part of you you'll meet each time. That is worth it.