I wanted to give myself time off from writing this morning as a reward for getting through some difficult moments yesterday, but here I am. It’s funny how thinking about a blank page intimidates and burdens me. I think of the pressure to “get it right”, whatever “it” is and think, nah, not up for that, and yet in between browsing, I open up the word processing software, and look what happens.
For my music at the moment, the longer I put it off, the harder it is to get started. I can come up with a gazillion excuses, starting with “not enough time” but really it’s fear. I feel like whatever I try, it has to be a completed piece, a statement. That’s a good thing when it drives me to complete something, but a daunting thing when I’m just not sure what I want. I doodle, I noodle, and I put it away. I’ve been hoping to reach that moment where somehow I believe I have something important under my fingers and I need to go further to see how it turns out. Nothing so far has caught my imagination strongly enough to fight off my critical inner voices. They have me bound and gagged. So I go carefully, thinking I want rest and treats, but really, I’m secretly searching for an escape to a protected place where I can experiment and no one will laugh with contempt. And it’s all in my mind. I can write music with headphones, leave it on my computer and no one could hear or judge. Except those critical voices in my head.
I wonder where their “mute” button is.