What Happens to a Dream Deferred?
An Ode to Excuses
I have found that midlife has a way of making those things we’ve put off for “someday” grow louder.
As the math of years spent vs years left starts to tilt to the left on the time scale, one begins to realize that dreams left on the shelf of tomorrow have, well, a shelf life.
I have been a writer as long as I can remember. I still tote around an old binder I started when I was ten called “literary endeavors” with all my scraps of scribbles and attempts to get published over the years. The binder has now lived in eight countries but has not as yet manifested into an actual book.
It hasn’t been for lack of trying. There was always just life that seemed to get in the way. You know, the career, the kids, the house. There was always something that allowed me to justify dabbling but never fully committing to being a writer and getting my book out there.
Then Covid happened and everything including all my excuses got shut down.
So, I started in earnest on a book.
It took me four years… not because I’m a slow writer… but because I discovered I still had to live some of the story I was writing. You always need to know how you’re going to end before you begin and let’s just say the heroine’s fate was still somewhat uncertain until very recently.
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I got the manuscript done last week.
I should be thrilled, right? I was, in a way, but then a gremlin of emotion started to surface. You see as long as you have a well-honed excuse for why you aren’t doing something you can avoid the nasty fear of “what if I don’t have what it takes.”
It’s one thing not to try.
What happens if you try and discover you’re just not good enough?
What if you don’t have the right stuff?
Creativity is an extremely vulnerable undertaking.
So, I sent it to “the vetter” as I like to call her and immediately felt like a parent sending my child off to their first day of school.
What if no one likes her?
What if she gets teased or bullied on the playground?
What if she has to eat lunch by herself?
I realize one needs to be proud our creative endeavors without worrying about what the critics think. Yet, every creator wants an audience. Paintings are made to adorn walls. Music is meant to be heard. Literature wants to be read.
Paintings are made to adorn walls. Music is meant to be heard. Literature wants to be read.
In the end there really is no other option.
Unless you want to live with the regret of never having tried you must be willing to risk trying and failing.
Because dreams deferred do begin to fester. They do become a heavy load on our midlife souls as you realize: You’re past the halfway mark; this is not a dress rehearsal; time is running out and then maybe just maybe one day:
They explode!
It’s OK to worry that no one will like her, but in the end, it really doesn’t matter. It’s far more important to breathe life into your creation. Someone will appreciate her for who and what she is. You may honestly be surprised at just how large that audience may eventually become!
this aligns with what i've been learning. action is better than inaction. Action leads to more choices and options than sitting in the "safety" of being still to hide and not be noticed or shot at. the 3 years I was in Portugal lead to the conclusion that it all comes down to trust in myself to have what it takes to handle anything that comes into my life. that's the wound to heal. the wound of when I lost trust in myself. I was very much conditioned to doubt myself and instead trust in Jesus. There was nothing more polar opposite to trusting Jesus than to trust in myself. So it was a zero sum situation and im not sure I ever trusted anyone in the end. So it still resulted in a loss of trust in myself, my body, my ideas, my intuition and my dreams. I'm 2 weeks away from my 49th birthday and wow some nights im wide awake with all that i haven't done. Which is when I make a list of all the things I have done to balance out the shame spiral.