When excitement turns to fear

I was accepted.  I applied to a writing program.  I sent them writing samples.  I fretted.  And then I was accepted.

 photo by Marcus Ridder

And then the stalling began. Enrollment.  Cost?  Not the issue.  My husband said go for it.  Difficult to enroll?  Easy to do!  Not sure about my assigned instructor?  Are you kidding?  He has a long list of amazing accomplishments:  His work has been published in New York Magazine and Saturday Evening Post.  He was an Articles Editor at Life Magazine.  Senior Editor at three publishing houses including Doubleday.  Oh, and he has worked with many prominent authors including George Plimpton.  In case that isnt enough, he has published 6 novels of his own.

No, it's none of those.  It is my confidence level.  I realize they wouldn't have accepted me if they didn't think I had "something", but what if I can't think of any ideas?  What if my creativity has dried up?  What if I can't live up?  Did you SEE my instructors list of accomplishments?

Despite all of this, I did it.  I enrolled this morning.  I now await my materials to arrive and the class to begin.  I just need to find the confidence...

Half-Marathon Training...

 photo by AGrinberg

...has been a frustrating experience.  It never occurred to me that I would have trouble walking 13 miles.  But I am.  I am having trouble walking anything past 7 miles.  My left thigh tightens up to the point I can't move anymore. 

But I have to keep at it.  I have to do this.  It is my birthday present to me.  I will drink more water; stretch more; go more slowly if I have to, but I WILL DO THIS!!!

Fear

"I don't think you have time to waste not writing because you are afraid 

you won't be good enough at it..."

 ~ Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird

This quote struck a chord with me.  So much so that it is printed on a colorful card and hanging above my desk as a constant reminder.

I don't think anything has frightened me as much as writing - well maybe the first day of teaching, but that was over in one day.

this is with me, in me.

When I first picked up pen and began to really flow from within, it seemed easy.  Fun even.  Then reality set in.  This isn't easy.  It isn't always fun, and it is always scary.  

I admire those who can dig deep in and pull emotion.  Those who pour out anger, fear, sex, hurts - how do they do it?  People will read it.  Their families will know they have bad thoughts, aren't always "good", are a sexual being in full detail, still remember those things that scarred, and shaped, their life.

I wish I could lift the fear.  I wish I could write fiction about a mom without my own being sure it is about her. I wish I could grab on to those hurtful experiences as a girl, pull them to the surface, using them to make words before they slide away.

Because of these things, I don't know why I worry about not writing because I'm not good enough.  Because right now I'm not writing because I am afraid of disappointing those around me, of hurting them, of hurting me...

Mile 9

Or can I even call it mile nine?  You see, I'm having trouble reaching this milestone.  Today I barely made it to 7.5 miles before I acquiesced to the incredible stiffness in my legs and back and stopped the treadmill.  I was frustrating.  One and one half miles to go. Less than 30 minutes.  And I couldn't do it.  My legs wouldn't move any further.

So here I am, trying to be a problem solver.  Trying to decide what the problem is.  Do I need to cut back on my weight workouts for the next two months?  Yesterday was 2 kinds of squats plus lunges, all with weights.  Could that have caused the stiffness?  Shouldnt the weights HELP?  Shouldnt they strengthen my legs? It isnt like lifting is new to me - Ive been doing it since March.

Do I need to commit to daily yoga until the race?  Would that help my legs do their job?

This is something important to me.  I felt failure today when I had to stop.  I was teary - pain and stiffness or disappointment and inadequacy?

I have to do this.  I have to walk this before I turn 40.  Not usually being stubborn or athletic, I am not used to these feelings.  I am not used to being so determined to reach a physical goal.  But I am.

So I will. 

Poetry in Motion

As I find myself with a few poems in draft (I dub them "in motion") it is time to at least move them from word processing to blog.  I will be more likely to work on them if they sit here for the "world" to see.  So without further ado:

Creative Orange Title in Process

Orange. Bumps. Not round, close enough

It will work.

Hold the green, slice the circle.

Hat comes tumbling off to the print below

Goo. Slime. Yellow Spaghetti. White seeds

that zip away when pinched.

Pull out more and more until the paper is full and wet and

the shell is lonely.

Find flat, close enough

Shapes in black

Same?

Different?

Big Smile? Menacing? Toothy?

Triangles straight up and upside down. What does he see?

Can he smell his seeds baking in the butter?

A leaf passes the moon.

Lighting the porch, he shines

proud to scare colorful kids.

A beacon announcing our presence in the warmth of the home

hearing seeds crunch as the butter dribbles and the crackle of

the fire-dance until it is overtaken by their yearly song.

The Study

Wall of books

Wall of infinite possibilities

Wall of color,

of musty scent,

of hidden treasure between

the covers; love letters, new worlds, thoughts

yet unheard, dangerous ideas to

hide from our children.

Spines

dusty with gold print heralding titles

begging to be discovered.

Words under heavy blankets, unexposed,

authors begging to be revealed, their naked

thoughts for all the world to see.