Posted: January 31, 2013 in Essays, Writing
Tags: , , , ,

scared-baby-2I’m starting a new career and I’m scared. I have all these friends that have all these connections and all these resumes out in the hands of those they’ve commended me too. And I am thankful beyond belief for this. (But I’m scared.)

In my heart, I’m an artist. Up until the last few years, I didn’t know how to be an artist though. I wrote and I thought, not yet. I created and believed there was some thing I hadn’t become aware of or grasped that I was supposed to. So I couldn’t be an artist. I wasn’t good enough. I was scared. …But I’m not scared anymore. I’m free.

There is craft and there is hard, hard work. There is the time-consuming process of growing and becoming better and better and better. But there is never anything to be afraid of. The art is always worthwhile. Even when it’s not salable, it’s worthwhile. It is a marker of where one is. It is progress incarnate. It is, my friends, anti-fear. Because fear does not create. Fear hides and makes up excuses. It is indeed the sun-sparkling spittle in the face of fear.

But, yeah, I’m still afraid. This ain’t art. What if I don’t get this job? Any job. What if all this work I’ve done for the past five years ends up being a very expensive education in failure?

For me, the act of creating–the lessons learned from it–prepared me for this. It taught me that even hard-earned failure is hope. Because it taught me that well-prepared actions are beautiful and non-action is null. It taught me that, instead of fearing, I should be. And in being, I will act as I will, not as fear of the unknown forces me to. I will be true to reality and and not the ghost of possible futures.

So, after writing this, I have to admit, I’m still a little afraid. Because truth is beautiful and a fine salve, but–like any medicine–it takes a while to fully work. But I feel better. Because even if destruction wins for a time, I stared it down and created in its ugly face.

  1. Alanna says:

    IF you can keep your head when all about you
    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
    If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
    But make allowance for their doubting too;
    If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
    Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

    If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
    If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
    If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
    And treat those two impostors just the same;
    If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
    Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

    -Perhaps Kipling’s words will encourage you

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