Some days I have it in spades.

Let me just say that as a writer, I live in the land of insecurity.

Do my readers get me? Did I communicate what I meant? Does anyone even read what I write?

Sometimes I feel like I’m driving in heavy traffic, talking to myself, and suddenly, the teen-aged version of me asks, “Are you talking to yourself?”

It’s that moment when I’m embarrassed and can still laugh at myself all at the same time. I think that part is important — the ability to laugh. Especially at myself.

I know deep down my insecurity is just a feeling that goes hand in hand with the creative process. I create something. I put it out there.  You judge it. It’s all very scary.

And it’s all about me. Insecurity is internal: it’s always about me, me, me! What if I take that insecurity and turn it inside out?

What if instead of me, I think of you? What if instead of being insecure and being self-absorbed in my perceived short-comings, I move that energy outward and inspire?

I like that a whole lot better. It takes the attention away from me and places it on you — to encourage you — to inspire you.

Because if I can take a risk and write, you can take a risk to do whatever it is you were meant to do.

Insecurity. Inspire.



found a little piece of heaven

I’m sure I’ve confessed my love of journals here. Utilitarian canvas-covered sketchbooks and beautifully embossed covers with sewn-in creamy pages make me want to write brilliant things in them.

Then I get clammy hands and a terrible case of writer’s anxiety when I fear I won’t be brilliant…just…mediocre, and I don’t want to ruin the beautiful pristine pages with my ramblings. Because of this silly notion, I’ve amassed a stack of lovely (and some utilitarian) journals, sitting pretty and empty on my book shelf, longing to fulfill their purpose and house all kinds of thoughts.

Big thoughts. Small thoughts. Complicated and incomplete thoughts. Stream of consciousness and careful thoughts.

And yes, every once in a while, maybe something brilliant.

Something changed a couple of years ago and I started writing in these beautiful books. I didn’t think it would happen, but I’ve filled them all. I just opened the last empty one and filled the first page. Heaven.