Last week, Jenny Crusie wrote a blog post over at Reinventing Fabulous which is a blog I frequent because then I can kid myself that I’m working on my own fabulousness.
Several of the people from the blog have joined Jenny in taking a course of self-discovery from Brene Brown. I love Brown’s youtube videos and TED talks, but have avoided taking the class. I need to focus on my work. No shiny new things to distract me, please. That’s what I tell myself. This past week’s topic was Imperfection Friday. It spoke of human imperfection and the strengths in our personality as having a corresponding weakness, sort of superpower vs. kryptonite. Go here to view: http://www.tinyurl.com/lddyovr
I chose storytelling as my superpower and insecurity as my kryptonite. I gave this considerable thought, but I didn’t comment immediately. I went about my morning thinking about my response. It was a great exercise, and it required some deep digging. That afternoon I curled up on the couch still thinking about it, and I realized I was doing the same thing that I always do. I’d been totally oblivious, because mine is a deep-seated, patterned response. I hadn’t even realized I’d been doing my old insecure number; living it for at least five days.
Content edits are due any day now. So what am I doing? Using my time wisely? Cleaning house, marketing, running errands, knocking off a multitude of appointments, writing new words, oh no! That would be sensible. Nope. Instead I’m lazing around and reading books, and studying a book of Deepak Chopra’s, and writing book reviews, and generally blocking out the world. Feeling insecure makes me withdraw from the world, except for the internet. Every few hours I check email to see if the edits have arrived. ; )
Why? I know this is a waste of time. It’s not like I’ll start working on them. Every time I get content edits, I freak out. I open the file, have a quick look and close it. Fast. Then I think about it overnight. The next day I take another peek and repeat the process. I feel physically ill. My brain goes on overwhelm like there’s forty freakin trolls wearing heavy work boots and doing a folk dance in my head. I just know I’ll do a horrible job of this book. I am a hack. I can’t write. I’ll never be successful. I have a stomach ache. I have a headache.
By the third day I calm down, open the file and get to work. It’s never as bad as I imagine it will be, and seriously, I end up enjoying making my story the best that it can become. So why do I do this? I have no answer, it’s my process and it works, in a strange sort of way. Is anyone else out there as crazy as me?