I’ve stared at my laptop for hours on end. Many a day. Even greater a night. I’ve swip-swapped words (thesaurus, please!), picked apart sentences (uh yeah…delete), scrapped paragraphs (CUT!), and completely canned ideas – really good ones – within a length, sometimes a nose, of the finish line (don’t Save…like NEVER ever… do Macs have an Avada Kedavra button?).
And in these moments of self-piteous/self-deprecating/self-loathing/(insert the unflattering adjective of your choice here) paralysis, no pep talk or pat on the back or couch session with Jesus Christ himself could convince a fiber of my being that I have a gift or just may have created, and subsequently trashed, something of value. Let alone to share it with the world.
For awhile you stick with the basics… I’m a perfectionist. It could be better. Oh, but they won’t understand. Ya know, the self-soap opera no one really believes.
Last summer for example. I created a manifesto for this site. Three week process. Poster-style. Self-editing, hired-editing. Arranging and rearranging. A total labor of love. This was, in my mind, a viral credo waiting to happen. An I’m-gonna-walk-down-the-street-and-see-it-tattooed-on-a-stranger’s-back sort of hit. Straight up California dreamin’. Or just plain visualizing. However you want to look at it.
After several days of writing and rewriting, I decided to give it some breathing room. A day. Maybe two. A week tops. To reset and reframe. (Side note for creators of any kind (if you’re human, this is for you): Fresh eyes and a fresh psyche are crucial to any passion project. And just good ole meat-and-potatoes life advice.)
Which brings me to last week when I’m thumbing through my files in search of a blog lead. And there she is… the manifesto… buried in a miscellaneous folder. I give it a read. And then another. And then one more just to be sure. Turns out it’s quite good, might I say. Stirring. Direct. Ripe as can fucking be. That’s right, ripe. As in ready, fit, overdue.
Don’t let ripe turn to rot. Spirit Calls can be very time sensitive.
Did I forget about the manifesto? To a degree, yes. Was that why it lived in a computer closet? Not a chance. My failure to launch probably had ties to creative anality, of that I’m sure. Its thickest root though was an unconscious attachment to the outcome. Never beneficial and a total dream killer. The divine takeaway:
The number of eyes that read the manifesto (coming this summer, by the way), that’s far beyond my capacities (and antithetical to why I create in the first place). The attachment to the result, and whether I let it squash my Expression, well, that’s just a choice. Cause guess what?
I did my duty.
I sat in the seat.
I laid it on the page. Every last letter of my Shine.
I showed, I glowed, and now, with a focused but flexible intent, I’m gonna let it go.
All of it.
Because I know the Youniverse has my best intentions. And if you want to physically let go, you gotta spiritually let go… of the job interview, the relationship, the six-month plan, the five-year plan, the audition, the manifesto.
Release your masterpiece.
The seed is in the soil.
They’ll take care of the rest.