I’m much more in love with the idea of being a writer than the work required to be one.
So here I am. I don’t have a job. I have very few prospects. I’m afraid of failing. I’m afraid of even the appearance of failing. But. But. But, I’m not so scared of failure that I’m willing to try something I desperately want to try. I’m only scared right now of not being able of finding a job. I’m only worried of not being able to provide the kind of life for my wife that I know she deserves.
And I don’t think that’s enough.
It’s just not enough to get me to take the risk and sit down and write.
Why? I’ve been thinking about this for sometime now. I know I’m not the only one. Lots of people have been quite successful making a career out of thinking about our fears. And lots of people are trying to make a living off of it. I don’t know if I have an answer, yet, but I think I’m approaching one. It has to do with dreams.
Right now, while I’m excreting out the 10,000th cover letter or résumé I can tell myself it’s just a temporary gig, that there are other options available to me whenever I want to take them. I still have the dream of getting paid to be a writer. No one can take that away from me.
But myself.
All I’ve got to do is sit down and write. Poof, now it’s not a dream. Now it’s reality. Now I have to make good. What if I fail? When it turns out I can’t write what dream do I have to cling to then? For what purpose then will I be grinding through the minutiae and bullshit of daily life?
I don’t know. And, I don’t think I want to know. It’s a lot safer to sit here and not write.
So, I don’t…