I loosen my grip on verdicts, sit down to create and feel that sharp voice show up too early or too late, pretending it’s protection when it’s really fear of being seen trying,
I loosen my grip on verdicts, I admit I’ve obeyed that voice before, calling it “my own standards” when it was just shame trying to keep me safe and small,
I loosen my grip on verdicts, I notice how I reach for critique the moment something feels tender, like I’d rather destroy it myself than risk it failing on its own,
I loosen my grip on verdicts, asking what the work might reveal if I let the rough version breathe before I question its worth,
I loosen my grip on verdicts, knowing I will keep creating even while doubt lingers beside me…
I create space for imperfection, because I’m tired of demanding perfection from the very start, I allow my first attempts to be imperfect and unfinished,
I create space for imperfection, I confess I’ve been cruel to my own creative process, rereading too soon and tightening too soon until the work itself can’t even breathe,
I create space for imperfection, I notice freedom returns when I stop chasing myself for outcome, when I let play be part of seriousness instead of my own inner enemy,
I create space for imperfection, can I let curiosity lead without asking it to justify itself immediately,
I create space for imperfection, keep the pencil moving, and let the work exist as if I owe the world an apology…
I find myself chasing unfamiliar ideas, listening to thoughts that feel odd or embarrassing, the ones I used to silence long before so I could look capable,
I find myself chasing unfamiliar ideas, I admit my first ideas are often the safest ones, and safety has never been where my best work lives,
I find myself chasing unfamiliar ideas, I notice I stop too early when my pride wants a clean finish, even though my heart wants a longer walk into the unknown and scary,
I find myself chasing unfamiliar ideas, am I willing to keep searching past comfort and let myself look ridiculous for a while,
I find myself chasing unfamiliar ideas, letting the work multiply until something unexpected steps forward…
I create from a softened place, experimenting when my mind drifts slightly, because too much sharpness can become control that ends ideas before they speak,
I create from a softened place, I confess my clearest thinking sometimes cages me, making me overthink and overmanage until the spark disappears,
I create from a softened place, I notice new angles appear when I loosen my grip, when I stop squeezing the work for proof that I deserve to be here,
I create from a softened place, what if my best ideas need me less guarded and less obsessed with being right,
I create from a softened place, following the looseness even when it scares me, because that softness is where the work becomes honest and truly alive…
Watchwords:
I delay the judgment, I keep writing
What if I let the rough version live
I make room for mess, I keep
I chase strange ideas, I make more versions
Sharpness can turn into control
Here is Tikatarot, who dares you to answer the question, “Who am I?”..
As and will always be reminding you to dream:
