It is awkward when you know there is a story lurking somewhere inside
of you but it cannot seem to find its way out in front of the floodlights. It is
awkward because this story - unlike a few from the past - isn’t seeking any validation
– not from the Self and neither from the Other. It is awkward because this one
isn’t demanding space for a rant either (thank you cognitive psychology)!
This is a story of throwing caution to the wind and dancing to the
beat of your own drum. And of having to press your ear real hard to hear that
beat above the din of social media’s number game! This is a story of starting
and restarting – every single time from the bottom of the ladder. Because there is no
such thing as free lunch.
This is a story of something suddenly getting switched on, on the
The kind that happens only when you acknowledge – and not just to
someone else’s face but to the face in the mirror – that you are here on your
own. And there is no right or wrong (yes, only thinking makes it so).
No one ever promised that the path to creative pursuits would be paved
and accompanied by an encore. Some paths are akin to trekking those steep
inclines, while knees wobble and lungs writhe behind the rib-cage! And the most
interesting paths - the ones with stories to tell - are always like that!
Except, in this story there is a boa constrictor; a boa constrictor called Anxiety
A couple of months ago when the boa constrictor first met me, it said
that no one would give a damn about my idea on expressive writing workshops
. A few days later, it came by again – but this time it said to me patronisingly that the idea itself was far too ahead of its time.
Some weeks later it ran into me again. And this time is slithered
around and grazed my legs (very feline-esque. Ugh! Ugh!! Ugh!!!) to let me know
that the success of my pilots was nothing but plain fluke!
This story also has a blob. This blob has no name but it resides within
the left rib cage. The blob got me introduced me to ‘the imposter syndrome’. I
have to admit, it was a pleasure to meet their acquaintance.
The boa constrictor hasn’t given up. On some days, it takes the blob as
But the blob and I are working on a plan to tame the boa constrictor.