Member-only story
I’ve been silent for a few days, despite my commitment to a daily writing practice on Medium. I’ve clearly seized up with perfectionism, succumbing to the gnawing assumption that I can’t possibly keep up this pace. The quality of my offerings will inevitably suffer. And anyway, what if someone’s only exposure to my writing is the crappy post I put up at midnight the other night?
This paralyzing worry has got to stop.
It’s a clear sign that I’ve stopped being myself and started trying to be some version of myself that I think you want to see. That version is unobtainable, unbe-able. It’s witty, well read, sophisticated, down to earth, articulate, succinct and wildly creative.
AND spiritually enlightened.
And hip.
Every single day.
No wonder I went mute.
Here’s something a little closer to the truth. I’m in my plaid Gap jammies, having eaten two more servings than necessary of my gluten free, vegan mac & cheese and suffering the consequent discomfort. I’ve had my second migraine of the day. My foot hurts. I went shopping for new clothes and came home empty handed, feeling discouraged, unattractive, and like the whole world has passed me by.
Plus I feel awful about contributing to the environmental devastation with my…
