I’m sitting at my desk at home a bit uneasy, because for the last few days, I’ve had no idea what I would blog about next. In fact, I’m discovering it right now as I type. This is always the fear: that one day, I will run out of things to say. The only difference between feeling this way currently and having felt this way all of last year is that, last year, I was unwilling to show up to do the work.
Here I am today, seated and typing words on digital paper, allowing whatever comes to mind to flow from my fingertips, regardless of how polished or unpolished, interesting or uninteresting it may be. I’ve been telling myself all day that, if I sat my butt down, something would come out.
Isn’t showing up half the battle?
One of my commitments in 2020 is to continuously get out of my own way. It’s nuts how I am my own worst critic when, most of the time, the rest of the world is waiting with open arms for me to share my gifts. For example, I had several family members praise my last blog post, saying they were touched by it and that, of everything I’ve written, it was their favorite piece. Of course, I’m flattered. Their praise is lovely, and it reassures me, even though I don’t like admitting the latter. While I don’t do it for the flattery, I do love and appreciate it.
Writing is my way of expressing myself, which means that, flattery aside, I will always write. And, while I’m at it, I’d rather my words make a difference with whomever reads them. However, as author Bernadette Jiwa says, “In our eagerness to make an extraordinary impact, we forget it’s in ordinary moments that we leave the world better for our being here.”
In concerning myself with what I’m going to write next, and worrying about running out of things to say, and trying to anticipate what others might think, I lose sight of what actually matters. Not everything I write has to break the Internet (OK, nothing I’ve ever written has broken the Internet, but you get what I mean). My last blog post was a from-the-heart sharing of a sad-weekend-turned-magical-family-trip. It represented an “ordinary moment” of saying goodbye to a loved one and coming together to honor their memory. All I did was recount it and immortalize it from my perspective. Yet, it made a difference, especially for those involved, and I fully grasped what Bernadette meant.
Every smile, every laugh, every look, every hug makes a difference. Whether we see the difference or not is another story altogether, but it’s nice to remind ourselves that our words and actions have ripple effects. They count. They are no less important than our big acts. Showing up for them, showing up for the things and people we love, showing up for our passions, our desires, and our dreams makes a difference. We are vessels and vehicles, and through our unique expressions, we will leave the world better for our being here.
So please, show up. I know it’s not easy, but if I could get past my uneasiness, if I was able to write this blog post (thank you for reading to this point!) know that you, too, will be able to overcome your fear. Even if for a little while. Even if it creeps back up time and time again. I promise, the more we make it a habit to show up, the easier it will get.
Will you do it for you?
Photo by: Unknown / Boston, Massachusetts, USA
belén/alemán 