Growing some balls...

I was thinking more on the idea of expectations this morning. But, this time, instead of thinking of their positive effects, I started thinking about their negative effects. For a long time, writing this blog came easily to me. I would sit down at night with no idea of what would emerge, and end up closing my laptop with this feeling of satisfaction with what I had written. I felt so satisfied, actually, that I wanted to keep reading my posts over and over. I had to force myself to go to bed. I haven't felt like that in over a week. Now, when I sit down, my brain starts critiquing before my fingers can even start moving. I'm not inspired. I haven't loved anything I've written in a while. In fact, it's been quite the opposite. I've woken up the next morning several times with the overwhelming urge to get online quick and delete my last post. I've been wondering why in the back of my mind; and this morning, on my way to work, it hit me. It's because people liked my writing.

When I started this blog, as I have said many times, I really didn't think anyone would read it. But then people started telling me they were. And, enjoying it. It was inspiring at first. It still is. But slowly but surely my self-imposed expectations have managed to seep in again. I have this habit of feeling like people expect me to be perfect, when really it's me that expects it. So, now that there is this "expectation" out there for me to write something interesting, I feel I have to keep it up.

And then, something even bigger hit me. I've always known that I personally damn myself from success. When I used to play piano, I could never, not once, get through an entire song without making at least one mistake. Because once I would get past the first half of the song perfectly, I would start thinking, ok I'm gonna mess up anytime now, I'm gonna mess up. And, lo and behold, I would. Today I finally realized why.

Since my formative years, I have always seen myself as mediocre. At my college prep high school, I was smart, but I was never the smartest. I was athletic, but not nearly the most athletic. I was pretty, but not the prettiest. I was nice, but not the nicest. So I kind of figured that I was born to be in the middle. It was just who I was. I could be good at piano, but I'd never be great. Now I see that it is not because I was born that way, but because I wanted it that way.

When you're "stuck" in the middle, you can always look up. Success is always just out of reach. You're constantly filled with hope that one day you will play like Billy Joel (or publish that book). And you truly believe you will. But, instead you keep yourself in the middle, because if you ever rise too high and can't hold yourself up, the fall down is long and hard and embarrassing.

Hearing that people actually liked my writing was- I can't even describe it. But I guess it was too much of a high for me, so again, I jinxed myself into messing up, into thinking too much about my thinking. Not trusting myself, my Source. Fearing what I've always feared most: failure. I don't want to be the best. It's too scary. Being mediocre is safe... and lame.

I can't even let myself own the little success of having a handful of people compliment me. It's too much. So I sit here talking all this big talk about books this and photography that. But until I grow some balls and quit being afraid of heights, I'm not going anywhere. I'll just remain here, stuck in the middle.



The tree is my hero. Never wavering in the storm. Always reaching towards the sun. Strong, yet beautiful. Cheesy metaphors I hope to someday emulate.