The Heart of the Matter

What is it that holds an individual back from personal success? Yes, I understand that fear of success is in serious competition with fear of failure. But what is it, specifically, that nurtures those fears? What in our psyche, personal experiences, thought processes, or individual temperament that build the foundations of these fears? Foundations that are so strong, we have to find a way to move completely out of the neighborhood in order to dwell in safer, stronger, healthier homes whose foundations are built on solid beliefs, personal integrity, strength of character and are tall enough to take us to the pinnacle of our dreams?

I have spent so many years looking ahead to someday, that I'm having trouble adjusting to the concept that someday has become today.

Someday I want to try to sell my book proposal and use the advance to pay the bills while doing research and maybe having some other part-time income. So why is it so hard for me to open the damn thing up and work on it? To put the thought and effort, and research time into honing it, moving it toward the agents' mailboxes. I have and I do. But–damn is it hard. The opening part, the wrapping of my own head around part, the settling down and closing off all distractions is the hard part–the really heavy lifting. The work itself is great. I enjoy the research and being distracted by interesting tidbits that I know will further the proposal, and ultimately the story itself, along. I enjoy working the sentences over and over again, until they are molded into exactly the form I want them to be.

But when I'm not working on it, when I'm fretting about money and wondering where I can find a big enough paycheck to meet all of my upcoming obligations, when my head begins to hurt from the worry, I look past my goals and my dreams, toward what I believe to be the more practical. And who defines practical? The voices in my head. Gram and Grandpa. Their worries have become my worries. The shoulds that I fought so hard against while the Grandparents were alive are making a stealth attack comeback.

Don't get me wrong, these aren't their worries about my potential failure I'm talking about, it's theirs. Their fears that were at times projected onto my life. They always made it clear they felt that I was smart and could do whatever I set my mind to. They were from the generation that foresaw my potential to include beauty school or flight attendant school, or working for myself doing housecleaning, or secretarial work, or even a supervisory position in a bank (but not the manager). I'm not sure that they believed enough in themselves to have far reaching dreams, or consider that I would either.

When I got my substitute teaching credential, I was terrified. I wondered if I could have success one day at a time in someone else's classroom. Once I did, I found that I didn't really want to do it, I didn't enjoy it, it wasn't the kind of intellectual challenge I thought it would be. I surpassed a goal. The next goal isn't into my own primary classroom, but into a college level one.

When I try to see myself as a published writer, it is easy for me to forget that I have in fact already been published in local publications, and all I need to do to stretch that out to something larger, is to write. And submit. To take myself seriously and not allow the non-creative issues to cloud my perception. To not see myself as a failure because I don't clean house as thoroughly or often as I believe I should. Or to beat myself up because I want to write instead of scooping poop. Or to dive headfirst into volunteer work, and put aside the essays that only need a few spelling corrections and a couple of addressed envelopes.

I have put into place so many of the pieces needed to move myself towards my goals, but I have to admit that I am too afraid to move toward them. Yet I know that financially and emotionally I need to. When the financial motivates me, instead of sitting down and working on the practicals of publishing and writing, I start looking at full-time jobs in Marin county posted on Craig's List, trying to see myself 8 eights a day writing marketing material, or updating databases, or researching real estate, or watching the alcohol industry, and if the bottom line, the takehome salary, will meet the financial goals I believe I need to reach. On those days, the financially motivated days, I spend far more time fretting and surfing job sites than working toward my writing goals.

I think that I am as afraid of success as I am of failure. There are really many more reasons for my fear than a couple of voices in my head. Like everyone else, I am me because of dozens of experiences over a lifetime. I am afraid because I sometimes don't like being out in the open, being seen and noticed. Which makes if difficult to be successful, doesn't it?

As always, writing helps. It is at the heart of the matter. I am and have wanted most of my life to be a WRITER. Writers write. Writing helps. By writing, I am fulfilling goals. Which is a very large chunk of my reasoning behind starting a blog. I don't really expect anyone to read this, but I'm not posting anything here that I wouldn't willingly talk to someone about in person or on the phone. No big secrets, just working through life by writing.