I typed this up sometime last week. It is something that has weighed on my mind lately. Admittedly, that is because someone close to me has planted that seed there. It’s taken root and wants to grow, but there are times when my own doubts still get in the way. That is why I haven’t shared this with you guys until this morning. Is the doubt still there? Yes it is. I am working on that, however. As for what’s typed up below? Perhaps I am remembering it all wrong. Perhaps I am making it all up in my head for some unknown reason.
Some people remember things that happened in their childhood easily. It’s like it happened yesterday. I can’t say that I’ve ever been one of them. It’s not something that I can explain, but it’s almost like I’ve blocked out my childhood memories. Most of them anyway.
I can remember how I was; how I acted. I was that quiet kid who wanted to stay unnoticed. My hand was never raised when the teacher asked a question, and I certainly wanted to avoid being called upon. That lasted throughout all of my school years. It wasn’t because I didn’t know the answers. It was because I didn’t want to speak up.
The biggest thing that I can take from that is that I don’t really know why I was like that. I fully admit that I have lived a rather sheltered life. We didn’t have a lot of money or anything, but we lived well enough. There was happiness and love in my family. Sure, things would be tough from time to time with my father being stationed elsewhere while he was in the Army, but my mother made things work out. Things were good.
So, why was I so quiet growing up? Why didn’t I have the confidence to raise my hand in class? That’s what I think when I look back on those years. I didn’t have confidence in myself, and that has lasted for a long time through my life. I’ve spent many years with an apparent low self-esteem that I can’t even really explain. I can’t tell you where it came from.
I’m better now, but it’s not gone completely. It still lurks in the shadows of my mind waiting for the opportunity to jump out and attempt to take control again. I know it, and I will try to be ready for that. It’s not easy believing in yourself after you’ve spent so many years of not doing that.
I’ve often started to write or type up a story only to give up on it after editing it. I’ll make my determination that what I’ve written is utter crap and that nobody would ever enjoy or take anything from it. I would think that what I’ve written hasn’t provoked anyone into feeling or learning something. I’ve kept all of that writing to myself and even destroyed or deleted some of it.
But that’s what I’ve done, isn’t it? I’ve destroyed a part of myself in that process. I’ve told my creativity that it wasn’t good enough and that there was no reason to try anymore. It’s been years since I really sat down and written anything, and I’ve attributed that to writer’s block. I no longer think that’s the case. I sincerely believe that what was blocking me was only ever myself. Perfectionism. I wanted my writing, my stories, to be perfect. They never were in my mind so I turned it all off. I told myself that I wasn’t good at it and gave it up entirely.
That’s not exactly a good way to do things. I gave up. I quit. I took something away from myself that I truly enjoyed. I beat my creativity into submission in the process.
How can I fix that? How can I convince my creativity to come back to me? How can I rediscover my muse, so to speak? One way to do that would be to write every day. Don’t force it, though. Let the ideas come to me while I’m writing. That might just do the trick. There is, however, something else that I need to do. I can’t edit my work!
It’s said that everyone is their own worst critic, and that is true in every sense. I’ve always beaten myself up over any writing projects that I’ve ever started. That’s even extended to ideas for projects of any kind that I’ve wanted to start. The ideas would be there, but I would eventually tell myself that I wasn’t capable of doing it. That would effectively kill the idea in its tracks, and it didn’t matter what it was.
Things are different for me now. Here I am typing this up while I’m at work. Here am I trying to get those creative juices flowing again. Here I am trying to convince myself to go out and buy some lumber to make either a coffee table or a headboard or a desk. That’s not on topic, but you get the picture. I want to order a new camera, but there are many things that need to be done first before I can seriously think about doing that. That’s responsibility speaking.
I feel like I’ve gone completely off topic here from what I began with, but it’s all really related in one way or another. What I need, seriously, is a swift kick in the ass with a continuous follow up. That’s what I’ve always needed. I need someone to push me until I start pushing myself. I want someone to do that, because I know that I haven’t done all that I can.
I’ve been told that I’m talented with words, but I never believed it. It’s time that I start.