If I’ve learned anything about falling and failure, it’s that I have to get up. I can’t stay on my knees. I can’t cling to the crumpled remnants of failed poems. I can’t hoard unsuccessful blog posts.
I have to leave those things. I have to try again. I have to put on the roller skates. I have to put my pencil to the paper and my fingers to the keyboard. I have to face my fears.
It’s hard to do that, especially when my instinctive reaction is to flee or to hyperventilate. It’s difficult to write on a blank page when the blank page has been keeping me company for one too many days. Facing my fears is my only choice, though. I could choose not to face them, but that would mean failure. It would mean I didn’t try, and I would have to wonder what would have happened if I had.
The question, then, is how to face the fears. I think the answer is found in doing the work. I have to do the work of the writer. I have to do the work of the artist. I have to do it without an expectation of achieving perfect. I have to do it in the hopes of finding the joy associated with doing something I love.