Living in fear of the Publish button — why turning it around doesn’t come easy.
I’m terrified of feedback. God, the prospect of it sends prickles down my back and the cotton mouth kicks in. Even writing this down here now is fear inducing. A glance at my ‘drafts’ folio or even the ubiquitous notes on my phone (Android user = Keep) is a shrine to thoughts gone, moments lost and ideas with which context now left somewhere in 2018 have withered on the vine. Perhaps, just maybe I can give voice to my fears and banish them.
Am I a writer? In so much as I keep a journal, I have copious notebooks, stationery can provoke emotions that I’m not entirely comfortable admitting, I have published a few things on Medium (despite the title), I am a writer. So really not much more than the average person on the street. But do I want to be a writer? No, not really. I want to tell stories, share excerpts, and make insights. I want to sit my desk and word vomit the inside of my brain, somehow hopefully resulting into a coherent communiqué that is interesting and thought provoking. But I don’t. I sit and dream of it, living this life only as a fantasy in my mind.
What if my dream is confused? I’m not really a writer. I’m a reader. My default is to be a consumer and simply take in the writings of others, devouring article, novel, tale, biography, and book alike. The authors of these pieces are the objects of my fan-boy-dom. All I can think of is how good it must be live inside an imagination like theirs. So, I continue to observe from afar, staying in my own safe cocoon where I am free to comment, critique and applaud these brave people to my audience of me. My responses and questions and comments remain just that, mine. For me.
Because I’m shit scared. Petrified. The opposite of social media posts where the ‘writers’ of the world congregate to share every waking thought. My lack of contribution is a conflict avoidance scheme gone digital. It's a strange phenomenon, in a face-to-face interaction or even on the phone, I’m happy to engage in a conversation, discussion, argument, no problems. There’s a connection in that, I can engage in a human-to-human interaction with gusto and verve. I thoroughly enjoy a good bout of constructive criticism, I’m active in looking for feedback on my performance flaws in a work environment. Debate the latest take on a piece of current affairs or work through a problem with someone that can offer a different view to me. Brilliant. Sign me up and buy me a seasons pass. Put a keyboard, screen, and an internet connection in the middle of the discourse and I wilt. The ability to connect and engage has been reduced to a form that has stripped the humanity. I am a human creature after all.
Where to from here? The where is apt as this puzzle is taking on the hallmarks of a journey rather quickly. The classic hero’s arc is laid out before me. I have an unfulfilled inner desire and my obstacle to overcome is before me. The mystical and wise guide has yet to appear. Perhaps you, dear reader, are that guide. Are we starting to form a connection, and will you share your wisdom?
Admitting you have a problem is the first step. Then my pedometer is now moving in the right direction. I have a problem. But that step becomes lonely without any follow up actions to address the underlying issue.
Actions speak louder than words. Ironic in this case as they are one and the same.
Culture eats strategy for breakfast. I spend 9 to 5 in a corporate role that deals with management and corporate strategy. Peter Drucker is held up as a celebrated figure in the theory of organizations and his seminal works are still often referenced. This quote attributed to him resonates with me constantly and keeps me grounded. But perhaps the deeper meaning was more eloquently put by the champ Mike Tyson when asked if he was worried about Evander Holyfield and he replied, ‘everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth’. Strategy is just that, a plan. And culture is just observed behaviors. Actions. We are what we do, not what we say we do.
I don’t know what my writing future holds. But that's ok. I’m going to write. I’m going to publish. Let the world come to me for a while, work on finding me groove. But I’m still going to be scared. But that's ok.
