I am not a big person. I don’t take up much physical space so I’ve allowed myself not to take up much space generally.
I’ve allowed my creative giant to slumber for too long. I give lip service to my need to write. My need to create. I avoid it because I’m scared it won’t be perfect and if it’s not perfect, what’s the point? And what’s the point if nobody’s going to pay me to live that dream life?
So I work and I cook and I clean and I ignore the cravings and the jealousy when someone else does it. When Rosie has a photography exhibition with such sub-standard photos. Or Louise gets published. Or Simone paints this awesome painting that hangs in my parents’ house.
And last week I realised something. How on earth will I ever get better at any of this if I’m always waiting for it to be perfect in order to start? So this week I started writing Morning Pages (from Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way) and I bought a copy of said book. I’m trying to take away the need for perfection, to take away the hold that the Lazy has on me and actually just do it. Nike has it right you know.
So far, things are going okay. I feel more creative albeit also more resentful that I have to actually work and all that jazz. I’ve written my morning pages everyday this week so far even though some days, it’s been a struggle to get to 3 pages. I have a bunch of story ideas and the plan is to start one of them this week.
I need to do this like I need to breathe.