Busting Writers' Block: My Morning Exercise in Futility

I've spent the past couple of hours trying to come up with a subject for an article.  I'm 99% positive there are about a hundred things I could write about, but for some reason when I attempt to put words to the page the descriptive words necessary to relate these ideas go up in smoke.  I'm able to think up the idea and why it's worth writing about, I just can't figure out how to explain it to an audience.
This sort of thing has been happening for quite some time.  It's more than likely the result of the umpteen stresses tornadoing through my life at any given time.  Stress kills.  Stress kills creativity.  
Stress can bite me.
I decided to get happy.  Happy is a solution to stress.  Music makes me happy.  The radio isn't playing anything to inspire creativity.  Let's try Pandora.  Listen, peeps:  When even Pandora refuses to play more than one motivating song there's a conspiracy afoot.  
Next, I decided to procrastinate productively:  I searched Facebook for something inspiring.  Unfortunately, this led to what it always does.  The Facebook Zone-Out.  Obviously not the best idea (ya think?!).
So here we are, laughing in the face of the word-block demons with wordy attempt to destroy them.  
My next feat of incredible awesomeness will be to go sit on the porch with my coffee to try to clear my head.  You're welcome to join me.  I need cooperative ideas.


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Truth in Dreaming Dreams

There are so many lies we as human beings listen to. We use every excuse imaginable to avoid success.  

We act as though accomplishments are something to fear.  We come up with every excuse to prove the imminent failure of any dreams we've ever had.  These internal put-downs are quite often the result of lies we were told in our lifetimes, which we diligently carried with us in order to avoid rejection or pain.

Growing up I was constantly reminded that dreams, especially mine, were ridiculous and stupid.  When I circled the modeling agency ad in the teen magazine, my mother and step-father laughed at me.  They told me the outfit I'd saved weeks to buy made me look like a bag lady.  They often made hurtful remarks about my overbite and crooked teeth, which were never fixed.  I was told I looked horrible without makeup, in harsher, more vulgar words.  I was told I was over-emotional and stupid, and that I would never be more than a factory worker.  I was told no man would ever stay with me.  My diaries were read and sometimes mocked.  I was made to feel worthless.
I was shy and introverted, but I did fight back.  I argued, stayed out longer than I should, hung out with friends they hated.  My own rebellion was comparatively mild compared to that of some of my peers, but it was still as much rebellion as I dared.  As much as I wanted to have my freedom, I was terrified of overstepping the strict boundaries I'd been confined to. I was terrified of exploring life, for fear I'd be ridiculed.
I was so afraid of living life that I took great pains to avoid it.  When my friends went skiing I told myself I'd probably get hurt badly.  When my best friend got married and moved into the cute little apartment in the city of Hartford, expecting me to rent a room with them, I told myself it would end badly and I'd only be a third wheel.  I told myself I wasn't smart enough to write anything worthwhile, even when everyone around me told me I should write; even though everything within me needs to write.  I opted out of events, parties, get-togethers, meeting new people, going to new places.  I settled for whatever seemed safest.
Lately I have joined a group of many other people who share some of the same fears.  Surprisingly, many of these people are successful and put-together.  I'd never expected anyone successful to have fears, especially fears so similar to my own.  Many other people are wall-flowers like me, preferring to shrink back from success entirely.  The fears they've expressed mirror my own; they fear others will think their dreams are crazy or stupid.  The group has been challenged to examine their fears, to share them, to discuss them, and ultimately to realize the truths their fears have hidden.  
I went into this with three goals.  The first goal is a major project involving a local organization.  I was certain this particular goal would be condescendingly laughed at and brushed off as a silly notion.  I took the initiative to create a proposal for my idea and delivered it by hand.  Much to my surprise, the proposal was warmly welcomed and even applauded.  I heard words like inspirational and exciting.  It was exhilarating, but more than that it was validating to be viewed as a worthwhile and intelligent human being.  
The third of my goals is a much larger one, which will take longer to achieve and much more hard work.  I've not talked about it much because it seemed to crazy.  It's not something so outlandish to have never been done before.  I'd just always assumed it was too much for me to expect of myself.  Within this group are a few people with similar goals.  One in particular shares many, if not all, of the same viewpoints I do.  I've gained a whole new level of confidence in my dreams through our conversations, and even in sharing these ideas with the group.  I've begun to see the possible reality in things I'd merely thought of as fantasies before, and have even dreamed some new dreams. I know this goal can be accomplished.  Some of the newer dreams might not, but I believe they're worth holding out hope for anyway.  One never knows what Providence might have in store.

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Starting

An author I follow recently posted an invitation to embark on an adventure.  No other explanation was given, except to say that the post would be removed within 24 hours.  Intrigued, I answered the call.  It turned out to be more of a challenge than an invitation.  
Jon Acuff, author of Start, was answered by just over two thousand willing adventurers.  I am one of them.  The Start Experiment community is endeavoring to get up and live their dreams fully, instead of waiting for the ever elusive "someday."  Big dreams do not come knocking at your door and lie willing at your feet, you must chase after them with all the fire in your soul and launch them into realization.  The idea is to fight your fears.
One dream I've had for as long as I can remember is to write.  I've placed it on the back-burner for a long time, telling myself I'd never be good enough to make a real living at it.  Eventually, the dream faded and my writing did the same.  A couple of freelance projects here, a few started and eventually abandoned blogs there.  I did some weeding out, figured out which ones I'd like to keep going, and am refocusing my creative energies into those.
I love to help, and have a dream to that end, as well.  I love to do whatever I can for others, because it feels good to be a catalyst in whatever good I can.  It's cathartic and meaningful.  With the encouragement of my new-found community of Starters, I came up with a proposal for a peer mentoring program which was well-received when I presented it, and plans to make it a reality are in the works. I was even asked to lead the project, which was exactly what I was hoping for!
I've also got one of those dreams that's going to take a little longer to realize, and a lot more work.  I've always wanted a little hobby farm.  I'm infatuated with barns and fields.  I want the old farmhouse, surrounded by trees and with a tire swing.  I want a barn with a loft.  More than all of this, though, I want it to be a way to help.  A sort of retreat with the purpose of helping others to become self-sufficient.
In any case, two of the three goals are already on the way to becoming a reality.  This gives me hope for the third.  


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Kindling

Oh, dear blog, it's been so very long since we've talked.  So much has happened these past several years since I threw you so callously to the wayside.  Yes, I have missed you, really I have.  It's just that somewhere along the way I forgot how to carry my voice through you.  I forgot how good it felt to bleed the passion in my heart into the words on your pages.  I let life get in the way, and the fears creep in and take over that part of me you once held.  I let the cobwebs cover your corners while I allowed my passion to die a slow, quiet death. 

For so long I didn't see the error of my ways.  I allowed myself to think you were a silly passing phase, and that my passion for writing at all was just one of the ghosts of my past.  I gave up on giving my thoughts a voice.  Instead, my thoughts became tiny blips, miniature social networking posts which barely drew the bat of another's eyes. I allowed the pain in my life to become my sole focus. 

I did some positive things.  I went back to school, where I earned Honors recognition, learned new skills and honed some skills I'd let get rusty.  I conquered the dreaded speech class, and even learned I loved it - as long as what I spoke about was one of my passions.

I'd forgotten what living passionately felt like.  I'd forgotten the joy I once found in words and in spilling my overflowing thoughts onto the page. 

I want you to know, dear blog, that I have rediscovered my passion for you once again.  I've reclaimed the intensity of my love for writing and for the words that pour from my overflowing mind onto the page, baring my heart to you. 



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A Grain of Sand

Fear is a powerful thing. It can paralyze you. It can make you feel every possible powerful negative emotion imaginable. Fear spawns hatred. The kind of hatred that makes people insanely aggressive toward things they don't understand. Fear traps you in its grip of depression and anxiety in an unending spiral. Fear keeps you from living your dreams.

I live in fear. I'm one of those people who worries constantly about my life and is so afraid of making a move that even though I might have trudged a thousand miles, I haven't really gone anywhere. It's fear that's kept me down. It's fear that's kept me living in my past. It's fear that's helped to continue the very cycle I have spent my whole life desperately hoping would end. And never did anything about. Out of fear.

Something someone said today made me think. It's not that it was anything prophetic or even profound. It was just a few simple words. Not even relevant to this writing. But it made me pause just long enough to look very hard at life itself. Not some strange metaphysical journey. Reality. And the reality was fear. Everything I've done or felt or thought about has been consumed by fear of the unknown or fear of what might happen if I actually made a choice. And the reality is, I never really made many choices. I simply let things happen. From a scientific standpoint, my life has been the epitome of chaos. Random happenings with no sense of order.

Driving clears my head. Ironically, when I need to clear my head I just randomly drive in no particular direction. Today I ended up somewhere I needed to go without realizing it until I got there. I won't tell you where I ended up. It's a very private, personal thing. The point is that it opened my mind and helped me to understand my life for what it is and what I need to do about it.

It's true that I've made some very healthy choices these last few months, but not enough of them. Just enough to get me by. But getting by is just surviving and just surviving isn't happiness. Getting by is simply staying in the same fearful comfort zone and never really going anywhere.

I'm not saying I'm going to wake up tomorrow surrounded by choirs of singing angels and a red cape with a big "S" on it. I'm still going to make some stupid mistakes. Because I'm human. But I'm going to try to really see more of what's going on around me. Because now I know the truth.