I pushed the door open and grimaced.
The air was heavy, thick with humidity and frustration. Tiny beads of sweat formed quickly on my shoulder blades as I walked and assimilated into my undershirt, making the cotton threads stick to my skin. The droplets that started to fall from the sky felt almost refreshing as I trudged up the hill toward the subway, though not quite enough to cool the atmospheric sauna or the exasperation of a work appointment gone awry.
I jogged across the boulevard, beating the changing traffic light and rushing to get into the subway station before the rain became too severe. I had known it was supposed to rain but, of course, I’d left my umbrella at home. I ducked under the awnings in front of the supermarkets, dodging around the other passersby who had similar ideas about staying dry. I turned the corner, slowed my pace so as not to slip going down the stairs, and made my way to the platform.
It’s fine, I told myself as I boarded the train. Now I can write and get home earlier. There’s still plenty of time left in the month for me to get that visit done. I leaned against the opposite door, feeling the breeze of the air conditioning brush over my skin, and pulled out my phone.
Two weeks had passed since I had written and I was getting antsy. The excuse of the Independence Holiday last week was an easy out for letting the gap week pass by but I knew that focusing on easy outs was my first step down the slippery slope of procrastination. I had been working to think of writing topics lately and had a couple milling about in the back of my head but none jumped out to me as immediate draws for writing. I pictured myself lowering a claw into the pit of ideas, cheered on by the “Ooooooooooooh!” from tiny green aliens, but coming up empty. My thumbs opened a social media app practically by reflex and then went to open a game before I realized what I was doing.
Not today, Admiral Ackbar, I thought, my lips curling into a smirk. I closed the apps quickly and opened the word processor app instead. We know what’s down that road.
It was a mindset with which I was all too familiar. When inspiration didn’t strike immediately, when I needed to really think, when the task at hand demanded some actual effort instead of mindless coasting, flight beat fight every time. I would sidestep confrontation, even if it were with myself. I would listen to music, scroll through social media and check news updates, all to avoid the slightest bit of struggle. I knew, of course, that my actions would come back to haunt me later on; they always did, no matter what the circumstances were. But still, my desire to evade the threat of criticism, of difficulty, of failure, seemed overwhelming.
I judged my posts before I had even written them. Nobody wants to read that, I thought. That piece won’t resonate with anyone, I said. Don’t even bother trying; that piece isn’t going to turn out the way you want it to, I decided, convincing myself of a negative outcome before the first letters had even been typed.
I knew the baseball metaphor by heart that I had used with clients and students, not to mention my own children: you’re not always going to hit a home run. Sometimes you’ll leg out a triple, sometimes a stand-up double. Sometimes you’ll have to bunt and rely on a defensive error just to reach base in the first place. The idea is that some blog posts are going to be amazing, some will be above average, and some, even after a lot of work, will still be just mediocre.
I knew it was important to take my practice swings in the cage and keep tinkering to make sure the ball hit the bat in the sweet spot of the barrel. I knew that ongoing, consistent effort was the best way to continue making solid contact.
In essence, I knew that the best way to keep getting better at writing was by writing.
And, still, the voices of insecurity and doubt would still creep back in and push me to match up strings of colorful candies instead of words. The emotional ruts into which I found myself sinking helped me use fatigue as an excuse not to fight through. It was easier not to push myself to think and it was safer for my ego.
I had realized, though, that the gratification was instantaneous but that it was also short-lived. Safe might have been easier, but it was not nearly as fulfilling. And, while I knew it was important to take a break once in a while, I also knew there was a fine line between stopping work to recharge and avoiding work altogether.
The subway doors slammed shut, barely missing the fingertips of a young man who had dashed inside at the last minute. My thumbs began rushing across the digital keyboard, tapping out the phrases that had already started forming in my mind. It was time for me to remember that the negative voices in my head were not the voices I usually heard from those closest to me. They were not the tones of encouragement that I received from my family and friends, nor were they the notes of appreciation I received from acquaintances online. My thoughts quieted as the words began to flow onto the screen and I smiled.
