A week of celebrations, big & small
A week filled with healthy starts, hard work in the garden & slow progress on the guitar.
Another lovely week we would love to share with you…
There are days I feel like there is always someone looking over my shoulder as I’m typing my words, disapproving of every single thing I have to say. My inner critic; a nasty version of my otherwise not-so- mean self. A version that always seems to find something to nag about. A version that finds flaws to point out & seeks out imperfections to condemn. It’s a tiresome companion; impossible to please & even harder to ignore. Always one step behind me, ready to interfere, ready to spoil the fun of being spontaneous, adventurous & most of all creative.Yes, my inner critic is a brutal creativity assassin. Nothing seems to do more harm to my words, thought & processes than this uninvited judge, who keeps telling me that, all I do, all I create & all I write simply isn’t good enough. And never will be.
When I was younger & less aware, I dared to write, because I felt I could write. I dared to draw, because I felt I was good at it. Didn’t know for sure whether I really did an amazing job at anything, but it didn’t really seem to matter so much at all. I was having a good time, doing what I loved to do. And sometimes I was even straight out proud of myself…imagine that.
I wish I could be more like that again. I wish I could to write & create more freely. I want to be able to get up in the morning, jump behind the computer and write about whatever I feel like writing about. I want to share the things that make me happy; the smell of my morning coffee, the way sunlight filters through the living room or the sound of keys turning in the lock. I want to rave about the beautiful song stuck in my head, want to describe the beauty of bunches of white blossom hanging heavy from the branches of wise, old trees. The skies are wide above me, the world is beginning once again all around me & my heart is singing with joy. ‘I love…I love…I love’ is what I want to write.
But I don’t.
Because someone inside me disagrees.
Someone thinks it’s not good enough.
And never will be.
And who am I to disagree?