Dear Friend
Thank you! For always being there when I need you the most.
Not so long ago, I found you sitting on a bench, tears streaming down your cheeks. We hugged; and the most important thing in the world was to comfort you. We talked; talked about your expectations. The thing is that not everyone feels as deeply as you do, not everyone is as open-hearted and kind as you are. You expected to get a positive reaction to your kind gesture, but the truth is that not everyone appreciates you the way they should. There’s only one person in the world who can do that, it’s you.
Afterwards, when I got home it got me thinking though, of all the times my own expectations got in the way of being who I wanted to be. It’s the reason why, despite writing a lot, I’ve never published anything, ever. There’s a voice in the back of my head telling me that whatever I write, isn’t good enough; no one will want to read it; they will judge me and laugh at me.
Having a perfectionistic mindset isn’t always a bad thing, but when you add a lot of self-criticism to the mix, you have yourself a nice blend of someone who will forever ‘be stuck’ in life. Being cautious about what you publish is healthy, but being afraid of others judging you isn’t. There’s only one person in the world who can truly judge you, it’s you.
This is why a lot of writers struggle to get their words out there, stuck in ‘Limbo’, living in fear that what they write is never good enough. It’s the kind of mindset that was blocking me from even getting words on paper. After reading ‘Bird-by Bird’, a book by Anne Lamott, something changed for me. It really did manage to change my perspective on writing and life. Thank you Anne Lamott for such a wonderful piece, for inspiring me, and surely many others.
It managed to get me writing again, this time with a different mindset. Nowadays I just splash all my thoughts on paper, with no aspirations to ever have any of it published. Doing this even made me so happy that I decided to start a challenge for myself, write a-thousand-words-a-day about whatever comes to mind. Since then I’ve written an estimated one-hundred-thousand words. Most of what’s written is non-sensical, just an incoherent bundle of thoughts, ideas, beliefs. But it’s my own little collection, I created it.
And that friend who was crying at the start of this story?
We talked some more about her expectations; and a little while later about mine. We talked about her aspirations in life; and then about mine. It turned into a conversation about my writing. She told me to ‘practice what you preach’ — let go of those expectations, let go of any aspirations, just write it down and publish it.
This was about a week ago; I’ve drafted this story a few times since, trying to perfect it, and then deleted most of it, and repeated the process. I’ve tried very hard to let go of the thought that this story needs to be perfect; it doesn’t, shouldn’t be. Nothing has to come from it, no one has to read it; it’s just the ramblings of an overly self-critical, perfectionist trying to live more freely.
In truth, I do care what you think, but it’s not as important to me as what I believe. I have no expectations, just the belief that it’s good enough for me.
