There is a resistance.

I feel it at certain points in my life.

I have this underlying sense that the resistance I am feeling is a ceiling or a wall. It always comes calling when I hit a milestone.

Let’s take writing as an example.

I have been actively writing now for more than a couple of months. As with most things, I started writing with zeal and vigor (I always wanted to write that). I embraced it, looked forward to it, read about it. It was going to become my new craft. Then it went beyond something that was just for me, it became a project.

I got someone else involved.

My friends Nate, Daytona and I wrote assignments for each other. It was about our perspective in writing. It felt good to rough out a draft, work on a second draft, and then put it out for someone to review. The reviews came back good but along with it came my old friend resistance.

It was a familiar old friend.

It came around last summer when I had written my book. I enjoyed the process. It was great organizing my ideas. Putting pen to paper, putting my fingers to the keyboard. Adding images and building the book itself. I launched it and it felt great.

Then I stopped writing. I didn’t pick up a pen for months.

I blamed it on burn out. I am pretty sure that isn’t what it was. This is going to sound cliche but what if I was afraid of success? Maybe not so much success, perhaps I’m afraid I won’t be able to do it again?

Here is the thing. I think that there are a few dogs in this fight.

I think the first issue is laziness. I just need to sit down, write and practice. I just need to let my mind run and allow my pen to catch up.

Secondly, subconsciously, I’m afraid of failing. I hear voices of people from my past telling me it’s no good.

Tertiary, I think I am afraid of the next level. I know that it means putting myself out there.

You know what though?

It’s time to push. To do the work. It is all well and good to stay at level two but a new level brings new hope (nice Star Wars reference eh?).

I need to remind myself of the joy that writing brings. It is not just an exercise, it is freedom. No one can tell me no. I can write about my thoughts. I can take stories from my own life and put a polish on them. Embellish them. Throw in a few lies and it’s ok. It’s even encouraged. I can make up stories, live fantasies. All this through this wonderful gift of writing.

So here I sit, pen to paper (or finger to keyboard) to tell myself. Stop being a douchebag. Tell that voice in your head to shut up. Grab your pen and book and be the warrior that God made you.


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