The Rapid Log · 06
I’ve been meaning to write a post, but for the first time in years, I really struggled with what I came here to say.
Until now, my problem hasn’t been a lack of ideas — it’s been too many things to say, all at once. I’ve been hoarding ideas in the “bookshelf” list of my Debit This, Create That Trello board. (Currently sitting at about 300 idea cards… surely some of those are duplicates, right?)
Given the plethora of ideas I’ve accumulated, it seems ridiculous to be stymied by the blank page. Why not just close my eyes, scroll down the list, and write whatever topic I land on? I’m this close to doing so out of frustration, honestly!
But I just don’t want to.
You might guess that my problem with the blank page is a mix of overwhelm (too many ideas) and analysis paralysis (which idea is “best” right now). That’s probably not helping, but it’s also not the full story.
Beneath that is a trickier issue:
The way I show up to the page is changing… and my self-permission hasn’t caught up yet.
I was going to write “has changed”, but the reality is, we’re still in process over here. I’d love to put more of that change into writing once it’s had a chance to land. (Should I start a new bookshelf list? Just kidding. Or maybe…)
Behind the scenes, a lot of my writing energy has been pouring into my first ebook. (I’m looking forward to sharing more on that process!) So outside of that work, where I have to be structured and useful, I’m craving more fluidity in my writing. More flow. More writing that feels alive.
This takes the tough work of asking tricky questions:
Can I show up unpolished? Lightly edited? A curated stream of consciousness?
Between my accounting career, my personal blog, and my freelance writing, I’ve learned how to follow the rules. I know how to be useful. I can spin a personal reflection into a helpful written companion. Writing for others is my comfort zone.
But what about the writing that’s for me? That is me? Could I belong out there, too?
I’ve realized that as much as I can commoditize my writing, my writing isn’t just a commodity — it’s soul-expression on the page, and while I’ve been able to share truthful yet tidy vulnerability, I’ve not yet experienced the uncalculated risk of pure exposure.
In other words, I’ve yet to publish something without overthinking the crap out of it.
Planning, strategizing, editing to oblivion — for me, these are safety nets. They have a time and a place, to a degree.
But they won’t help with the big question that the blank page is afraid to answer:
What happens if I let go of all that noise and just let myself exist in the words?
What happens to my voice, my aspirations, my creative inner child, if I get rid of the safety nets… and fall?
I won’t have a true answer until I try. But the theoretical answer, plausible but untested, is this:
The strong, capable, competent adult — the one who learned all the rules — will catch her.
Except now, she’s armed with hugs and hot chocolate rather than critiques and redlines.
She’s also realized that the question is phrased with a glass ceiling built in. Let’s redline that in favour of a better question:
What if she flies?
Thanks for reading!
Originally published on Substack. For more introspective writing and creative unfolding from the space between corporate and creative lives, join me here: The Creative Reconciliation on Substack!
And if you like the journal-style blog posts of The Rapid Log, here’s the latest from the series:
