It’s 5am. I’m wide awake knowing that I just need to write. I don’t know what I’m going to write about but that’s the point.

I’m constipated with so many things I want to say. The pipeline of topics I want to write about have been percolating in me for years. But here’s the thing: I’m paralyzed with perfectionism.

Perfectionism, for those who might not be familiar with it, is a crippling and exhaustive condition. It makes you stew on something for weeks. It makes you consume classes and tutelage like crack, because you want to be sure you have all your bases covered before you take the best action. It makes you review, revise, and beat your original inspiration to a pulp, turning every passion into a pesky obligation. For some of us, perfectionism is a ceremonious pursuit that deludes us into thinking we’re doing the ‘right’ thing.

Perfectionism makes social media feel like a strange surreal world, where “everyone else” seems to have figured out how to take the truth of what they have to share and effortlessly slap into a photo stream, a facebook feed or a personal blog. Perfectionism digs into your time exponentially, because you’re always mulling things over examining all options, before you choose the best option.

The worst part is, the more passionate I am about something, the more I’m prone to perfectionism. Even when I’m showing up with the fantasy of being free in my creative process, my own freedom is all contorted into a pretzel, because of this damn perfectionism.

I woke up this morning because I know it’s time. I need to take this private beast of perfectionism and cut it loose. And to stop allowing myself to make that such a big deal of it. So I’m giving myself permission to write without filters today. To have permission to not have it all together. But to just write in the moment. And if it resonates, hallelujah. I’ll consider that I’ve done my part, at the very least, by freeing my voice.

Unless an inspired impulse has a fluid portal into the world, it stays in a bubble and creativity gets extinguished. So here I am, giving these bubbles of inspiration to have a space to land without the self-induced blockages.

It’s now 6:27am, and I’m just going to hit publish. That’s it. That’s all. That’s everything.

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