“It is not because things are difficult that we do not dare; it is because we do not dare that they are difficult.” Seneca
There hasn’t been a post here for awhile. A long while. I received such amazing feedback about a few of my older posts that I shut down. Nothing that I have written since has seemed as powerful. As eloquent. As impactful.
As each day passed, I felt more and more challenged to come up with amazing words and less and less inclined to sit and actually write. The drive to compete with myself was so overwhelming that I simply didn’t move forward. My ego was stoked and nothing I wrote was good enough for her exacting standards. At least not in writing for this space. I have written some amazing pieces for groups I am in, for Facebook posts, for responses. I have crafted amazing work at my job. Beautiful ruminations for the yoga classes I teach. I have been eloquent and well versed elsewhere. Just not here.
As each day slipped into the next, I began to feel like I may never write again, just write. Again. Not for this space.
My husband tried to help. Thought he was helping. Making space for me to sit and write. Telling me how much he missed my ramblings and thoughts. That only made things worse. All the words that came to mind were trivial. Nothing I wrote felt good enough, powerful enough, amazing enough. Not worthy of the time you would take to read them. Writing, which is my all time favorite thing to do, became …. difficult.
Was it the writing that changed? Or my attitude about the writing?
The muse came, she tickled my ear with ideas and concepts. I unleashed beautifully articulated streams of thought into the ether of Facebook. I wrote wonderful little pieces for other people’s blogs. And then was too embarrassed to share them here. I wrote in my health blog, a workshop. I contemplated starting a new website just for my musings about the world of yoga. I wrote amazing emails at work.
What is it about this space that suddenly became so intimidating for me? That cursor bouncing and blinking in the space of the white page. The empty space staring back at me. My brain suddenly going into lock down.
I really would like to say that I am so very complex that this is a quandry, but I would be lying to myself and to all of you.
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.
Your playing small does not serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking
so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.
We are all meant to shine, as children do.
We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.
It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine,
we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear,
our presence automatically liberates others.”*
Where have I been for eight months? What have I been doing?
In reality, none of that matters. What does matter is that I miss this space. I miss writing. And not all of it will be stellar. And that’s okay.
There will be more posts. Many more. I am doing a contemplative study of the first two limbs of yoga: the Yamas and the Niyamas. I have been writing some really beautiful things related to them, but don’t worry – not all of my posts will be yoga related. But I can not deny that the muse has been tickled by these topics.
There will be other topics, as well. Of course. I have actually written a lot and now it is time to finish and post them. Because something in one of them might mean something to someone. They might mean something to me.
And really … how can I not