I sent it out in the world, the way you exhale something you weren't sure you could afford to release, that uncomfortable feeling of fearing,
I sent it out in the world, immediately missed the version of me who was still building it, until you didn’t expect the draining part,
I sent it out in the world, with trembling confidence and surrender, realizing I hadn’t stopped caring but was finally learning to care without holding on,
I sent it out, wondering if I let it go or watched it leave until I realized release doesn’t always feel like freedom, like standing still while something I love learns to exist without me,
I sent it into the world, hoping someone might recognize something I’d forgotten, reminding me that a work’s meaning transcends my understanding…
People said things, I heard them the way you hear rain through a closed window, but the deeper meaning was the thing I misunderstood,
People said things, some that opened the work for me, I began to understand that receiving a response meant making room for both what I could learn and what I could not carry,
People said things, these were reflections of themselves, not judgments, I let their perspectives shape my work without imposing my own limits,
People said things, why did the harshest ones find the exact shelf, I realized that criticism can hurt beyond its truth when it lands on something I’ve been afraid to believe,
People said things, and the work remained unchanged, quietly waiting until I realized it had found its place in the world thus, I needed to learn how to stand beside it without flinching…
I had to return, not because the task wasn’t completed, but because I couldn’t trust the completion without being alone throughout the process.
I had to return, reread it like watching it cross the street, hoping it’d be fine without me, letting it go meant trusting it to keep moving even when I couldn’t walk beside it,
I had to return, even when going back cost me the momentum I needed to begin the next thing, asking it to relieve the uncertainty I carried after letting it go,
I had to return, caught between the instinct to protect what I had made, the knowledge that it was never meant to remain only mine, until letting go was part of finishing the work itself…
I had to return, until I finally understood that returning was just another name for not trusting the release, a way of keeping one hand on the work and let it stand on its own…
Completing the task taught me to distinguish my work from proof of my existence, my creations can shape my life without becoming the sole evidence of my presence,
Completing the task taught me that finished does not mean sealed, but understand that letting the work go does not prevent me from learning from what it becomes beyond me,
Completing the task revealed hidden parts of myself I’d kept safe, perfectionism isn’t fear of mistakes; it’s a refuge from being fully seen,
Completing the task taught me to confront my need to protect myself from vulnerability, I wondered if I had been preserving its potential while avoiding the reality of its completion,
Completing the task taught me that releasing it was the final and most costly act of creation, I had to stop treating my presence as its condition for survival and trust that my creation could still belong to the world without me…
Watchwords
Surrender wearing a straight spine,
Their words were portraits of themselves, not verdicts,
Going back cost me the momentum I needed,
I conflated the work with proof that I existed,
Releasing it was the most expensive act of making
Here is Tikatarot, who dares you to answer the question, “Who am I?”..
As and will always be reminding you to dream: