Last night I was watching Jacob as he squinted through his amber-glass beer bottle,
wondering about the color of the liquid inside.
It was a familiar beer, one of his favorites in fact,
he had always drunk it from the bottle.
There was an unfamiliarity lurking within,
retrieved a tall glass from our kitchen, and c a r e f u l l y poured his beer into plain view.
The color was exquisite: an earthy amber with a hint of PINK!
I watched the scene, reflecting,
and found it a beautiful reminder about transparency.
About the value of showcasing
own unique hues and qualities.
And in a poetic turn of events, this little beer inspired me
to examine my own hidden insecurities about writing.
And so, I made a list.
(Lists seem to make everything better, don’t they?)
Lists give form. Stratego. Velocity.
I’ll share it with you.
Maybe seeing mine (in a more transparent form) will help me feel like it’s not so scary:
Beth’s Basic-B List of Fears About Being a Writer
1. I’ll discover that I hate myself and my voice and melt into a lump of shame and embarrassment.
…Like basically I’ll feel like the equivalent of a piece of PB&J smushed up into a disc on the floor.
…..And I’ll just be toddler-smush.
2. If I waste my free time journaling, when will I have time to write or draw or create the actual STUFF?
Like, the stuff I was destined to make?
And basically shock and awe everyone with?
…Like, the stuff that will make people go: “That Beth. Man, I knew she was going places.”
3. If I say all these feelings inside, people will think I’m depressed.
People will think I’m too MUCH.
People will think I’m dumb.
People will …think.
4. That my family will read my blog. That my family won’t read my blog. That my family won’t understand how to talk to me about my blog. That my family will get their feelings all twisted up.
5. That I’ll think too much and melt.
There I go melting again.
6. That I’ll try to write a book and be rejected.
7. That I won’t relax and just live my life.
8. That I’ll run out of things to say. Also that I’ll never run out of things to say.
9. That I’ll be embarrassed.
10. That I’ll never think of a #10 and I’ll melt in a puddle of sad OCD-slime.
Now, since this is a blog post,
You’re probably expecting me to wrap up my list with a positive spin.
To lay it all out.
To give myself (and everybody else) an astonishing pep talk. …the peppiest. pep. talk.
But that would feel a bit manufactured. Yeah?
Truth is, I don’t have the answers. I just have the feelings. I’m just twenty eight, after all.
So let’s just leave it at this: