I have noticed the pressure I put on myself, I often urge myself to create something that will shield me from disappointment, criticism, or the risk of being misunderstood,
I have noticed the pressure I put on myself, feeling how quickly the desire to create becomes tangled with the desire to prove that I am capable of creating something,
I have noticed the pressure I put on myself, because once the work becomes evidence of my worth, every imperfect part begins feeling strangely personal and difficult to touch,
I have noticed the pressure I put on myself, am I still doing this because I genuinely want to or because I feel compelled to prove something about myself,
I have noticed the pressure I put on myself, and the work becomes lighter when I stop asking it to defend my worth…
I separate my work from myself, even though a part of me still craves every reaction to the finished piece to serve as a gauge of my worthiness in creating it,
I separate the work from myself, remembering how easily praise can inflate me and criticism can collapse me when I have tied too much of my identity to what I produce,
I separate my work from myself, because I want to care deeply without expecting everyone who encounters it to validate my care,
I separate the work from myself, can I let someone dislike what I made without secretly deciding that they have discovered something wrong with me,
I separate the work from myself, and now as I freely accept everything, the distance gives me room to keep making and making regardless…
I allow the piece to be imperfect, I have postponed completing tasks while waiting for the moment when all uncertainties would vanish and every choice would finally feel justified,
I allow the piece to be imperfect, knowing that endless adjustment can sometimes hide the fear of letting another person finally see what I have been protecting,
I allow the piece to be imperfect, because completion exposes the work to the world in a way that endless preparation never has to endure,
I allow the piece to be imperfect, can I let it leave my hands without first making it impossible to criticize at first but accept its becoming,
I allow the piece to be imperfect, and something in me stops hiding behind refinement…
I continue to create regardless of the fear that persists, not because it has vanished, but because I’ve come to realize that waiting for fearlessness would allow fear to dictate the duration of this creative journey,
I continue to create regardless of the fear that persists, carrying the tenderness, doubt, excitement, embarrassment, and stubborn hope that arrived all together whenever I put something of myself into the world,
I continue to create regardless of the fear that persists, because the work does not need me to become invulnerable before it can just exist and it doesn’t need protection to become the price of expression,
I continue to create regardless of the fear that persists, can I let myself be seen while still feeling uncertain and remain here instead of retreating,
I continue to create regardless of the fear that persists, and the fear becomes something I carry rather than something that carries me forward…
Watchwords:
The work becomes lighter
Stop asking it to defend me
Room to keep making
Something in me stops hiding
The fear becomes something I carry
Here is Tikatarot, who dares you to answer the question, “Who am I?”..
As and will always be reminding you to dream: