I have held back an idea, wanting to save it for the right people who’d finally appreciate the work I imagined it deserved,
I have held back an idea, hoping for a better opportunity, while wondering if I’m protecting the idea or myself from potential rejection,
I have held back an idea, watching an opportunity slip away because I imagined a more significant room, a more meaningful occasion, or a more prepared version of myself,
I have held back an idea, can I admit how often I have mistaken the promise of a future opportunity for a reason to avoid the vulnerability of the present one,
I have held back an idea, sometimes the thing I wanted to preserve has grown heavier in my hands while the chance to let it live in the hands of others has quietly whispering…
I become afraid, completing something meaningful will leave me with a depleted part of myself that can’t be replenished, causing me to wonder if I’ll ever experience safe again,
I become afraid, my creations prove I must keep producing at the same level, even when the next thing hasn’t yet taken shape,
I become afraid, comparing a new beginning to a finished piece, forgetting how much uncertainty and awkwardness I’ve already removed from the work I now admire,
I become afraid, I let the next attempt be unfamiliar without demanding reassurance that I haven’t lost what made the previous endeavor possible,
I become afraid, I can feel my attention narrowing around what I already know instead of opening toward what I might still discover…
I keep returning, to the same unfinished piece because its familiar problems are easier to face than the uncertainty of starting something with unknown difficulties,
I keep returning, to small corrections that feel productive while the larger decision waits, untouched, beneath the growing pile of improvements I’ve convinced myself are necessary,
I keep returning, admitting that my effort can’t guarantee the response I want would mean meeting the uncertainty directly, which I prefer to avoid,
I keep returning, can I tell when my attention is still serving the work and when I am using the work to postpone the next unfamiliar beginning,
I keep returning, I am beginning to understand how something I once hoped can become a place where I hide from the possibility of loving something new…
I am beginning to release, that every idea should be saved for its most impressive occasion, where the work I refuse to share can’t show me what it might become,
I am beginning to release, the pressure to make every new piece equal the last, as though my creative life were a contest in which each attempt must defend my right to continue,
I am beginning to release, the need to turn every unfinished possibility into a promise where some ideas starts to happen, while others and their experiences teach me new things,
I am beginning to release, can I allow myself to make something true today without treating it as evidence that tomorrow’s work will be smaller even if it’s still imperfect,
I am beginning to release, still wanting my life to remain a place where new things can enter where honoring who I was does not require me to keep living among the remains of every former self…
Watchwords:
The promise of a future opportunity
One meaningful result has used up a part
The familiar problems are easier to face
Something I once loved becomes a hiding place
A museum of everything I was afraid to release
Here is Tikatarot, who dares you to answer the question, “Who am I?”..
As and will always be reminding you to dream: