Given a free month, and time to do whatever I want, I’d write a book. I’d write the majority of it at my cottage where life somehow simplifies. I’ve let this little beauty of a “dream” roll off my tongue into the real world a few times lately. Dreaming out loud is something I have done a lot in the last few years, so I am no longer surprised when the person I choose to share my dream with gives me the squinty-eyed look of doubt. Is this just another of her crazy ideas?
I don’t blame them. I’ve had many ideas that never got off go. Truth is: I doubt myself. I use dreaming out loud as a step one process to see if those hearing my idea think I could do it. If they seem confident that I could do it, I get more excited and confident as well. Not an ideal way to craft your future.
“I believe I can fly” is what I chose as my motto a few month’s back.
It is less of a motto and more of a pump-me-up, give me confidence kind of theme song, I suppose. An acknowledgment that I lack confidence in myself to truly deliver on my dreams, and a reminder to myself that I know I have the power in me.
I am still convincing myself that I can truly fly.
Now believing that YOU can fly, and seeing exactly how YOU might do it, is not a problem for me. To me, your path, your success, your dots connect right in front of me --- and mine seem to dissipate with each lift of someone’s eyebrow, just before one of the dreaded questions comes at me, what training do you have in this, what makes you an expert at this, what makes you think you can do this?
I hate questions like that. It’s like the little voice inside of me (the one that is always there, always asking) gains strength when someone in the real world asks me as well, and instantly my dream(s) poof. My confidence goes, and in rolls the next idea.
Why is it so hard to believe in myself?
Yet, the idea of writing a book is sticking. When I stop accomplishing, and take things off my plate, I can feel the urge to write. When doubt wriggles in about whether I have the ability or the expertise, I rationalize that no one needs to read it, I really just need to write it. That makes me feel better. Like I won’t let anyone down if it isn’t good.
But there is something else that keeps pulling me back to a book. It’s the support of those who know me best, those who tell me to just start writing already. The husband that sells his beloved musical equipment little by little to pay the house payment, so I have this time to myself to create.
And it’s the absence of a brow lift or a squinty eyed look from those who love me when I dream this dream out loud that give me confidence that I can indeed do it.
It no longer seems like a dream hanging way out there, it is starting to feel like a dream that wants to get out.
So now which book? Yes, there are lots of words rolling around in this girl’s head. Which book do I write first? A well-known author advises: “Write the book you need to read”.
Great advice, except I have needed to read SO many books in the past few months/years. The one about healing a family from the wounds of their 16-year old son’s toxic dating relationship, the one about getting off the accomplishment train and into your life before it is too late, the one about learning to accept and embrace the grey of life ---and stop seeing it in black and white, or the one about how to go about reacquainting yourself with “you” when you reach mid-life, then fully appreciating and accepting that person.
At the rate I am going, I will have a bookcase full of books I needed to read on my to do list to write.
And maybe, just maybe, once I begin, I will truly start believing that ‘I can fly’.