Realizing my limits and actually pushing through them are two totally different beasts. The first happens inside my thick skull and within my journal pages. The second requires an action, an implementation, a leaning-into push. | Loaf X Loaf |
I am vulnerable at the beginning of this artist's journey. Glass windows to see in. A maze of the mind to navigate all in the dark. There is no wing man, no manager to call. Just me, plodding along at a snail's pace and most times my footing isn't so sure. I realize I am the one putting myself out there, but this not-so-shiny part of the story needs to be told too.
Although it is exactly where I want to be, I have always had a resistance getting TO the canvas. At the mere thought of stepping up, more often than not, I turn tail, screaming, petticoats showing. A wild, manic dash to somewhere else, anywhere else. Oh, look! Squirrel!
There's always 20 other things I could be doing. What little Type A resides within me loves checking off boxes for validation, so let's just pacify her first. Instead of actually showing up, I am washing dishes, deep spring cleaning, tweezing eyebrows, googling artist retreats I will never attend, planning that unlikely trip to England, Ireland, and Scotland, or just continuing to scroll down my Facebook feed. I now realize this continual list of random to dos is just a way of keeping myself from testing my own limits . . . and could keep me eddying just below the surface indefinitely.
I've been standing in this doorway assessing my next step for far long enough. I didn't realize it at first, but my inner critic was wedged in that doorway too. She's kept me right here by whispering flaws, not-enough-isms, and who-do-you-think-you-ares? And I have paused, thinking I needed to focus on my shortcomings. "I gotta get better at . . . first, then this troll will let me pass." But, what if her nagging never goes away?
The door is heavy. Keep pushing.
Once I roll out the protective cloth under my easel, another surge of fear comes over me. Breathe in. Acknowledge this inner struggle. Thank it for keeping you safe, but there really is no danger here. Just a wave of uncomfortable anticipation that triggers my fight or flight response. Again, breathe through it. Exhale. Let it all go. And I mean ALL!
Although it is exactly where I want to be, I have always had a resistance getting TO the canvas. At the mere thought of stepping up, more often than not, I turn tail, screaming, petticoats showing. A wild, manic dash to somewhere else, anywhere else. Oh, look! Squirrel!
There's always 20 other things I could be doing. What little Type A resides within me loves checking off boxes for validation, so let's just pacify her first. Instead of actually showing up, I am washing dishes, deep spring cleaning, tweezing eyebrows, googling artist retreats I will never attend, planning that unlikely trip to England, Ireland, and Scotland, or just continuing to scroll down my Facebook feed. I now realize this continual list of random to dos is just a way of keeping myself from testing my own limits . . . and could keep me eddying just below the surface indefinitely.
I've been standing in this doorway assessing my next step for far long enough. I didn't realize it at first, but my inner critic was wedged in that doorway too. She's kept me right here by whispering flaws, not-enough-isms, and who-do-you-think-you-ares? And I have paused, thinking I needed to focus on my shortcomings. "I gotta get better at . . . first, then this troll will let me pass." But, what if her nagging never goes away?
The door is heavy. Keep pushing.
Once I roll out the protective cloth under my easel, another surge of fear comes over me. Breathe in. Acknowledge this inner struggle. Thank it for keeping you safe, but there really is no danger here. Just a wave of uncomfortable anticipation that triggers my fight or flight response. Again, breathe through it. Exhale. Let it all go. And I mean ALL!
Finally, I'm completely prepped and step into . . . this. A serene surrender washes over me as I search only for the next step. For, once I do that, more than likely, I will have found three more spots to tweek. Before long, I gladly loose tack of time.
Now, comes the time I've dreamed of. I am nowhere near ready, but are we ever? Could we not continually plan forever?
You are good enough. Breathe. Dust yourself off. Shoulders back. Chin up. You've got this! Keep pushing.
Dare bravely and daily,
Catherine Porter
Now, comes the time I've dreamed of. I am nowhere near ready, but are we ever? Could we not continually plan forever?
You are good enough. Breathe. Dust yourself off. Shoulders back. Chin up. You've got this! Keep pushing.
Dare bravely and daily,
Catherine Porter