One of the most challenging moments in my life occurs each morning that I open a new page on which to post another entry in this blog. I have always loved to write; I have always had a hard time starting. Even when I have a an issue, idea, or incident, about which the few remaining synapses in my feeble brain are firing madly, I always find the first words difficult to form. Sometimes, even when I have something really interesting (to me, not necessarily to anyone else) about which to opine or describe, I stare at the blankness of the screen like a cold-numbed steer in a blizzard, painfully immobilized by the cold surroundings and too frightened to take steps forward into what might be an even more painfully cold region.
Some mornings there is not enough coffee in the world, let alone in my house, to jump start the connection between mind and fingers poised like frozen claws above the keyboard. On those days, I finally relent to the voice in my head that constantly chants "you can't do it" anytime I face a challenge (admit it, you have the same voice in your head), and I reach for the mouse, click on Favorites, and check out what real writers are penning (keyboarding?).
This morning I found a gap in the defenses of the naysaying voice in my head. Instead of putting rounds on some distant target, I slid off of his block, swung out to the flank, and placed enfilading fire on HIM. Even now he is counterattacking in the most cruel way, reminding me that even when I write through the block, I am really only writing to avoid working.
It's bad enough to have a voice in your head; when it's right, that hurts.