Poetry Collection Debut

Progress over perfection

Photo by the author

I just published a book.

Me.

The two biggest feelings I have right now:

1. Excited: Giddy with the news. Giddy from the accomplishment. Giddy with the potential and the relief from the hard work and healing.
2. Vulnerable: I am naked at school, naked on stage, an imposter, my own version of Narcissus. I just know there will be formatting issues in print — typos, font sizes, grammatical errors (gasp!)! Who would actually spend their hard fought-for dollars on my poetry (besides friends and family)? What if people love it? What if people hate it (and tell me so)? What if I care?

Well, those of you not new to this game can probably relate. I am not well-versed in the business side of art. It is hard to self-promote something so personal, so eternal, so deep and important to me. It is hard to self-promote my own healing.

I would love to just stay in feeling number one: Excited. But would I be normal if I did not debase my own accomplishments directly after? Doesn’t everyone sink their own ship by imposter syndrome?

But deep, deep down, I know that this is me. This is truly me. Writing is my breath. My therapist says so. And so does my astrologer. It’s in the cards, people!