“Can I be honest with you?” My childhood friend, brother, and the person I go to when I’m in a creative rut was about to get real. He was about to lay it on me and I don't think I was ready.
“You are so finicky with your projects.”
Bingo. I was, and I knew this. I thrive in generating ideas – ideas for novels, blog posts, videos, social media campaigns, interviews, projects, and the list goes on and on. If there’s one gift I’m proud of having and can confidently vouch for myself, it’s creating ideas out of thin air. If there's one thing I wasn't good at, it was committing to myself.
But here I was, never have executed anything to its fullest potential and I wasn’t sure why.
“I know,” I responded. Did I really know, though?
“You're too worried about what other people will think.”
I wish I could say I didn’t care and blissfully go about my life not giving two shits, but I do. This wasn’t the reason.
Also true – but not in fear of success or “making it” or failing for that matter; it was the fear of, “what if this wasn’t my mission? what if this wasn't what God or the Universe wanted for me.”
That was a scary thought because at this present moment I wanted this, and it's all I've known. Since I was thirteen, I dreamt of becoming an author who wrote magical stories about whimsical realms. Yet, I've accumulated years of crafted excuses and a bunch of "I'm too busy" nonsense that prevented me from fully committing to my novel, because God forbid, what if I wasn’t meant to be an author?
So what’s better than facing it? Avoiding it.
Avoiding that moment– if it even exists– that your dreams were not meant to be. If it weren't meant to be, there's a great chance that something better is waiting for you around the corner. If those dreams weren't meant to be, then you were meant for greater things.
Cliche, I know. So I learned to look at it like this instead.
What if we're meant to have multiple dreams? What if the story I had written was meant to be a movie instead? What if I just commit to this for the sake of committing to myself for a change? What if the reason I fail as a fantasy author is that I was meant to be a YA author?
You never know unless you reach that fork in the road. You also will never know unless you start walking down that road.
I mean, whoever said we're limited to just one dream anyway?