You spend your days listening, observing, focusing your attention on anything that was worthy enough to draw it in the first place.
You process all this input.
And then, at some point in time, you realise it’s high time you started writing something.
You sit down; with a pen and a piece of paper or in front of a cursor blinking on the white screen of your computer’s word processing programme.
You start writing.
Word after word.
Sentence after sentence.
Paragraph after paragraph.
At certain points, you believe you have achieved in catching a glimpse at your own genius.
You rejoice in it and you feel thrilled that you will be able to share with the world the fruits of your creative imagination (since you’re always using your creative imagination to write about something that stems naturally out of your deeper, true, self).
You contemplate on how the things that you write about – and the way you write about them – may transform, slightly or even significantly, the lives of the human beings who are going to read them.
And this gives you even more power to continue filling in blank pages on blank pages.
Eventually, you reach the conclusion of your piece of work.
You feel drained but happy.
You let sometime go by…
… And then you embark on the process of reviewing your project. to fine-tune and finalise it before putting it out for everyone to see it.
And then, in seeing it with a different eye, you begin to realise that,in fact, this may not be the groundbreaking, paradigm shift-inducing project you through it would be when you were initially bringing it to life.
The things you wrote about now seem to you commonplace, dull, uninspiring, absurd, pointless.
Disillusionment kicks in.
The urge to delete everything and act as if this whole creative adventure never happened becomes really strong.
Fed up with your self and with the world, you are tempted to give in to this dark temptation, as it seems to include in it a hint of redemption and relief.
But you don’t give in.
You can’t tell exactly how or why, yet you don’t give in.
Or up.
You correct what you think needs to and can be corrected, adjust what you think needs to and can be adjusted, beautify what you think needs to and can be beautified.
And you finalise your creative project.
You put it in a proper and neat package, you render it accessible to everyone and you let them know it’s there, ready to be read by them.
You wait for the first reaction.
A lot of time passes and nothing happens.
You feel let down.
But you wait a bit longer.
Still, nothing.
You realise you want to forget all about it and focus on something else.
Then, an idea for a new creative project arises out of the labyrinth of your ever-flaring unconscious.
“No way”, is your first conscious reaction to your deeper self’s musings.
Eventually, though, and even though you find it hard to believe, you become convinced to start once again the arduous process you managed to get yourself out of not a long time ago.
So you sit down, just like before, ready to start writing.
You write one word.
Then you stop.
You place everything aside, lie down on your couch or bed and engage in a ceiling-gazing therapy session.
Then, suddenly, everything becomes clear.
You hear a voice in your head, confidently announcing to you: “Way to go”!
And you know you have still ahead of you a truly long way to go.
And you also know what awaits for you at the end of the way.
But you don’t mind and you don’t allow yourself to become disheartened by this realisation.
You understand that you don’t have a choice and that you knew this all along.
You wilfully embrace the way.
Your way.
You.
