I’m excited. There’s a feeling that’s bubbling in me, underneath the surface, that is filling me with hope. My creative wheels are turning and there are soft whisperings that have me looking forward to what the next few years might have in store.
James and I give each other one thing to work on every year. It could be anything at all…sort of a free pass to name the thing that has bothered us or that we find irritating, or possibly a bad habit that has started that the other one doesn’t appreciate. Or maybe there is a need that goes unmet that we would like to highlight. It has been good and productive and healthy to have this in our marriage.
This year (because this is something we do in the summer) James didn’t want me to change anything, but rather, he wanted me to give some of my time and energy to a…hm…shall we say, project?
I was upset that he named this thing because in my heart of hearts, it’s what I would love to do. I didn’t even acknowledge it for years because it seemed too far off, too lofty, too ambitious. I’ve only mentioned it to a select few and, even then, it’s hard to utter the words. Lately, it has been creeping up. I get excited, then I push it back down. I get an idea, then I quickly push it away. I get affirmation and then I go to great lengths to sabotage the compliments. I reason it all away.
Why? Because I have a crippling fear of failure. It would take a substantial amount of time for me to give you all the reasons I am afraid of failing, and I won’t go into them on this blog, not now, but the way that it manifests in me is that if I don’t start, if I don’t try, then I won’t fail.
I suppose that I’m tired of doubting my abilities and, evidently, so is James. He sees something in me and wants me to see it too.
Why is that so hard?