All week I've felt unsettled. The most unsettling part is, I have no reason why. Then I realized, there is no one reason. It's a conglomeration of reasons, all trying to fight their way to the forefront, vying for my attention -- completing a homework assignment for an online course, sketching out ideas and determining my protagonist's emotional journey for my second novel (a sequel to the first), working on two pastel paintings up on their easels and waiting ... You get the idea.
I don't dread doing any of these things. It's that my mind doesn't want to cooperate to focus on any one thing. But when I break that down further, I know underneath this mind scatter lies fear.
Fear that I won't complete my assignment in the right way, or give the right answers. Fear that I'll take off in the wrong direction for my next novel, waste time, and end up writing umpteen drafts until I get it right. Fear that I'll ruin the paintings by overworking them, or using the wrong colors, or ... or ...
So the basic fear behind my paralysis is that I'll do something wrong. Don't many of us carry that fear? We don't act because we're so afraid that whatever we do will be the wrong thing?
Oh, but what if we do the right thing?
What if I jump into my assignment with renewed passion for why I signed up for the course in the first place, and find that I learn what I'm supposed to and gain knowledge I previously lacked?
What if I start writing, the characters open themselves up to me, and I can't pound away on the keyboard quickly enough to get it all down?
And just what if ... I stand in front of only one of those easels and don't even think about producing a masterpiece, the likes of which I see daily in my Facebook newsfeed from master pastellists? What if I stand in front of that easel and have fun? Experiment? Remember what I've learned online, or in a recent course, or what I've read, and apply those principles? Then accept that if I don't achieve the desired result, it was only paper and pigment to begin with. No big deal. I have more paper and pigment.
Just ask my husband.
The thing is, I can begin again. I can travel that road you see above, even though there's a curve and it's foggy and I might have to slow down a bit. Maybe along the way, I can enjoy the beauty of the road. And the trees. And the mist softening all the hard edges to create its own mysterious beauty.
Maybe I can forgive myself for not being so perfect and simply enjoy the journey. Maybe ... if I stop worrying about all the wrong that might await, I'll find the right. The right for me.
Maybe I'll find something wonderful just around the bend.
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