“Michael: Don’t knock rationalization. Where would we be without it? I don’t know anyone who can get through the day without two or three juicy rationalizations. They’re more important than sex.
Sam: Aw, come on! Nothing’s more important than sex.
Michael: Oh yeah? Have you ever gone a week without a rationalization?”
-Jeff Goldblum and Tom Berenger, The Big Chill
I have been writing since I was seven years old. When I was in eighth grade, I wrote my first book with my co-author, Jeannie Pritchette, who was also in the eighth grade. We filled 484 notebook pages with the tale of four teenagers who stole the family RV and ran away to Canada. Surprising for two shy girls who had travelled no further than our own backyards and spent most of our growing up years in the library of our Catholic grade school. To my chagrin, the notebook was lost when Jeannie took it to the beach over summer vacation. The only thing that got me to stop crying was the realization I could write another one.
Fast forward three decades. I have supported myself through all various ways, but have not wanted to risk taking a stab at writing full-time, professionally.
These have been my rationalizations for not writing:
- Writing is a luxury, and won’t pay my light bill.
- I don’t know what to say.
- People will get sick of the constant posts.
- I’m not a fast writer. I labor over everything I write. It’s too hard.
- It makes me feel vulnerable.
- The people who really know me (close friends, family, ex-boyfriends) will be able to contrast my writing with how they experience me and call me a BIG FAT PHONY FRAUD.
They (the people who know what they’re doing) always say not to write about anything that still triggers you, and I am clearly breaking that rule right now. These rationalizations still grab me round the neck and try to silence me.
But something came along to eclipse all of that.
The idea of how phony it is for me not to write.
Do you have a gift you are rationalizing away?
We’re in this together,
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