Because I’m painfully insecure, I feel a little naked about my last post. I feel like I got all ballsy and shared a picture of my naked brain and I’m fighting regret, resisting the urge to rip it down and apologize for being so brazen. So pompous. Whenever I hear the word pompous, I think of one of my favorite French words, pamplemousse, which means grapefruit (not a very pompous fruit at all). But there it is… my brain is a funny, tangential place.
How dare I?
That’s what I’m afraid you’re thinking. How dare she just proclaim she’s going to to turn something she loves into something that will help sustain her family? How pamplemousse!
And then I got rejected for a scholarship for an online writing class which poured a bit of gasoline on the fire that my inner critics sit around warming themselves on in my brain.
In the crazy heat of last week I escaped to my mom’s house with the baby where there was a pool, an air conditioner and a couple extra sets of hands to hold and entertain the (teething) baby. I got home late Saturday night wondering, as I entered my 90 degree, empty house, why I hadn’t just stayed another night at my mom’s. My arms were heavy with bags of stuff and a car seat full of 17 lbs of baby as I wriggled my way onto the small enclosed porch. Remarkable how much stuff I managed for a two night trip – two bags of food, one combined bag of clothes for both myself and baby, large bag of cloth diapers, laptop bag, knitting/journal bag… was there one other? Anyhow, as I squeezed this all through the door, I noticed a box from Amazon and on top a large envelope mixed in with the mail. I knew what the box was, but couldn’t figure out what was in the envelope.
After putting away what couldn’t be left out and peeling the sweaty baby from his carseat-egg-pod thing, I got him settled into bed for the night. Then I remembered what I’d ordered. Juicy Pens, Thirsty Paper by the glorious SARK. I started reading her books ages ago, in college (seriously, AGES ago). I have nearly all of them. Yet I haven’t picked a single one of them up in the last 5 years, at least. So when I recently stumbled upon her in the macrocosm of the internets and saw that she had written THAT book, well, I couldn’t exactly NOT get it. (The Universe, she works in mysterious ways I tell you).
I’ve only managed the first chapter. But already I’m asking myself… WHY NOT declare my dream? Why not put all of my love and energy towards living it? Why do ANYTHING else? (well except feed, water and love up the children, the man and myself)
I can’t think of any good, logical, sound reason why not. And holding on to that will be my biggest hurdle. My inner critics are powerfully mean, fed on years of insecurities in most every aspect of my life, they are big, fat and toothless (oh, and hairy and smelly). And loud and obnoxious and try to make me feel teeny tiny when I’m trying to be big and brave. I’m going to have to fight hard against them. They have kept me quiet, kept my writing lacey, fragile and sparse for a long time and I am done (you hear me, done!) with allowing that to be my reality.
My hope is to devour this book over the next week and most importantly learn some tactical maneuvers against those dastardly fellas. A little whisper in my brain just said “maybe they’re scared little kids, maybe they’re scared little you’s, maybe you need to bring them into the light, write about THEM, maybe then you will see why they are screaming for attention in all the wrong ways.” I’ve taken a short stroll down that path before; perhaps now is the time for a full journey into the dark canopy of my psyche to visit these bands of scoundrels I call my inner critics. The question is, will I be brave enough to share what I discover?