I return to the work again and again, keeping the work moving even when my confidence is low, because confidence has never been a reliable guide for me anyway,
I return to the work again and again, I admit I’ve clung to the fantasy of one perfect piece, because one perfect piece feels safer than many imperfect attempts,
I return to the work again and again, and with every attempt my grip on outcome loosens, no longer mistaking drafts for judgments of who I am,
I return to the work again and again, wondering whether I can create ten times over and allow it to be imperfect, sincere, and truly my own,
I return to the work again and again, keeping on until effort becomes familiar, not frightening.
I allow the unfinished to breathe, noticing how often I rush to secure what isn’t ready yet,
I allow the unfinished to breathe, I confess I’ve strangled ideas before they had a chance to grow, then called it “editing” so I wouldn’t have to admit it was fear,
I allow the unfinished to breathe, learning that the work develops more freely when I don’t rush it into a final shape,
I allow the unfinished to breathe, waiting until the work has substance, not just a flicker of beginning,
I allow the unfinished to breathe, resisting control long enough for the work to find its own shape…
I leave the spotlight of my own mind, remembering the relief of being so absorbed that there’s nothing left to manage,
I leave the spotlight of my own mind, I admit I crave that kind of quiet absorption, because I’m tired of carrying my doubt like a second skin,
I leave the spotlight of my own mind, remembering moments when I disappear into the work and forget to keep score,
I leave the spotlight of my own mind, am I willing to be unseen and imperfect so the real work can finally take over,
I leave the spotlight of my own mind, lingering with the work until fear loosens its grip…
I practice calm authority over myself, refusing to be dragged by impulse, and admitting how often I hid behind feelings instead of choice,
I practice calm authority over myself, I notice self-control isn’t coldness, it’s care for my future, care for my art, care for the life I keep building in small little steps,
I practice calm authority over myself, recognizing that my avoidance wore the mask of flexibility, when it was really fear of trying and still not being enough,
I practice calm authority over myself, wondering if I can keep showing up, laying one word after another, while fear insists on being heard,
I practice calm authority over myself, taking the next step and letting it count—not because it’s perfect, but because it’s real…
Watchwords:
I commit to volume, I keep producing
One perfect piece feels safer
I stop polishing early, I resist control
I let the world fade, I remain
I take the next step and let it count
Here is Tikatarot, who dares you to answer the question, “Who am I?”..
As and will always be reminding you to dream:
