Enough is Enough
Some days when I sit in front of my computer and try to write I think about strange things. I remember phrases from the past, things people said to me during the week, or something I read. These wouldn’t be such bad things and might even lead to some brilliant inspiration if I didn’t find them so enticing. I follow them down some path - one direction then the next until I have no idea where I began, where I am going, or even where I am. I think to myself that there must be some great analogy that has just come and gone but I can’t seem to find it again.
I want to write. Partly for the art of it I want to learn to put these words, and ideas, and stories down on paper. Partly because it feels cathartic and enlightening to see these words form sentences on the page. I’m not sure what I learn from it all but it seems important when I don’t try to think about it too hard. Like something permanently in my periphery - every time I turn to focus on what this all means I find it has shifted someplace else just out of reach.
Some days when I think of writing there’s a sort of fear that creeps between me and the page. A fear that what I write will not be profound enough, funny enough, long enough, short enough, poetic enough. I don’t know what ‘enough’ is or isn’t but the fear of never reaching it can keep me from being who I want to be. I want to be someone who can find comfort in this place where I am not quite enough because as soon as I believe I have arrived the journey will be over. I will no longer be making progress, moving forward. So why is that all so hard to remember when the fear comes creeping back?