Feel'd Notes: Self-Doubt

Thank you so much for taking your time to send so many kind responses. The feedback shouldn’t be what galvanizes me entirely, but it certainly helps fuel my diligence in this endeavor of frequent expression. To add clarity to my recent barrage of transparency, I want to address some of the comments the previous posts have garnered.

A few people have asked me if I have a book coming out, or why I’ve not been published. Those same questions have plagued me for some 12 years now. Not trying to pull a Muhammad Ali here by declaring myself as “the greatest,” but if I’m being honest, I do have a sneaking suspicion that I do have within me (or at least through me) access to a certain level of creative ability that COULD amount to more than just admiration for my literary (and musical) heroes, but more so a strange kinship.

In other words, I’m scared shitless at the prospect that I MIGHT BE ONE OF THEM.

What if I fuck it up? What if I’m deluding myself? To borrow a phrase from Frank Herbert’s Dune chronicles, I do feel a sense of “terrible purpose” regarding my nature as an expressive human. Not so much that I feel like I have any sort heightened ability, but rather that I’ve grown to recognize that we ALL are uniquely gifted in tremendous ways that are acutely needed during the time of our individual lifespans. We need only to permit ourselves to submit to that purpose, effectively making ourselves a conduit for what transcends the individual self and benefits the ALL.

And so to circle back to the question: Why am I not published? Well, I am. A poem here. A personal essay there. A short story in a college literary magazine (ages ago). I’ve been paid as a freelance journalists for some local publications in the past. Sometimes I’m contracted to write web content for a variety of purposes. I’ve written and co-written screenplays. Not nearly as much as I’d like, mind you, but it’s happened.

I think the spirit of the inquiry, more specifically, is: Why am I not self-sustaining as a creative writer? Why have I not published any BOOKS? Well, honestly, it’s because I’m terrified that I’m not good enough. I’m terrified that what I have to say is banal or (worse yet) self-indulgent. I wonder if anyone will care or connect with what I have to say and share. Ultimately, I’m worried that everyone will reject ME.

Oh, the wily ways of self-doubt.

As much as I can project those fears on to you, dear reader, the truth is that I am rejecting myself. I’ve been running away from my true self for 12 years. I sometimes meter who I am because I think it won’t be accepted, perhaps because I tend to view myself as unacceptable. I could blame my conservative Baptist upbringing, but at some point this is all an effort in self-repression, a reticence to open my heart and lungs and mouth and just BREATHE.

I no longer wish to run and hide. I want to unfurl. Because if I go through much more of this existence without speaking the thoughts and experiences I’ve accumulated, then it feels like I will have lived a “near life experience” (as my friend @gull_face would call it), which would be a tragedy. Not just for me, but a tragedy should anyone not live and live fully, to not step into the space to be the unique embodiment of consciousness that we each are.

In February I published a confessional called “Sleeping at the Wheel of My Life’s Purpose.” In many ways, it has continued to be a daily battle to plant my hands at 10 and 2, instead of allowing myself to take a cruise-controlled careen into the abyss of unconscious patterns.

Some things inside me have shaken loose of late, and I really hope these habits persist. So, again, thank you for the encouragement and feedback. It means a lot. Like @devendrabanhart said in a live session called “live @ quiet please!” — some people are strong enough to make a go of this life’s journey on their own, but me, I need help.

Thanks for being there. Thanks for listening. And if there’s something you feel like you need to share or say or be that you’ve been avoiding, I encourage you to let it out. No amount of inner turmoil is worth constipating your soul.

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