Fear

I keep trying to push myself to write my book.

I mean.

Good grief.

I have enough freaking material for six, seven, eight, a dozen books.

I have the words.

It’s just the sitting down, compiling, organizing.

I recently did a photoshoot with a local photographer who did my headshots for my website.

It was so exciting to be in the studio and change outfits and fuss with hair and make up.

But then.

Honestly.

I was not happy with the results.

The photos are good.

But I don’t care for how I look in them and I feel that I didn’t optimize angles, expressions and being conscious of my body or my face.

I was nervous.

I laughed too much.

So many of the photos I look like a hysterical hyena.

I sense I could have used some better direction.

And.

Some of the photos turned out really, really well.

So it wasn’t a complete wash.

However.

I want another session.

And.

I think with a different photographer.

I sense more art photography than portrait is the route to take.

Afterall.

Despite my work being academic, it falls far outside the realm of academia.

My internal second, on my committee board for my dissertation, told me that it read like a novel.

I have had plans and thoughts and designs on the work for a long time.

I have a vision for it.

And I haven’t quite gotten around to it.

This morning, I’m not sure why, but during my morning prayer and meditation practice an intrusive thought arose.

Wow.

A year.

It’s been almost a year since Burning Man.

And when I thought of last year’s Burning Man I thought of all the sweet folks who renamed me “Dr. Carmen” instead of my former playa name, “Poppins” or “MF Poppins” for Mary Fucking Poppins, a playa name attributable to one of the moms I used to work for who in turn was married to someone who worked for the organization, “I know your playa name, your like Mary Fucking Poppins with tattoos,” she said one day in her kitchen as she was leaving her sweet child with me for the day.

That was many moons ago, ten years now.

I am no longer a nanny.

I am a therapist.

I am a PhD.

I am also scared.

I can admit it.

I am scared because that little voice popped up today, remember when you told folks last year that you would be working on a book, did you do that?

Where’s the book?

Wow.

I sucked in my breath and welled up a little with tears.

I somehow sense that my camp mates are not going to be that harsh with me.

Only I am that harsh with me.

I think I told myself, “that’s unnecessary,” or “that’s unkind.”

Then I tried to think about, well, what the fuck did I do in this past year?

Which I think is still a version of that voice, but more nuanced.

I couldn’t come up with anything off the top of my head.

Which is unfair.

I worked, I have run a business, I see clients, I continue to make it work living in San Francisco, no easy feat. I have slowly been writing more, I have dated, finally finding a person that I really enjoy being with and I could write page after page about that, I got reconnected with the club and music scene and I have danced, A LOT. I have traveled, I have stayed sober and abstinent, I have deepened my friendships and done a lot of my own therapy. I have done a lot more than just this, but I also had eight client sessions today and my brain is bonked.

I don’t always understand my own process.

But it is there.

Unfolding in the words, in the thoughts, in the spaces between.

So.

I am trying to be kind.

But also transparent.

I think the framework of school and pressure to perform forced my hand a lot.

Deadlines and due dates and get it done.

I don’t have that anymore.

I have tried to schedule time on my calendar.

I have started little folders called “Book Project”.

I have discussed the work with friends.

I have it all in my head.

Why haven’t I gotten it out?

Fear.

I’m afraid.

And that’s ok, but I have to do it anyway.

I have to walk through the fear.

Which is why I am writing about it.

On this hideous platform, the more I write, the slower the site goes.

I Googled it earlier, why is my worddpress site so slow.

I got way too much information and I tried a few things, but I have not diagnosed it correctly, so my writing, which is joyous and free flowing typically, is now slow and sticky.

Kind of, irony, like my process around the book.

I reached out to the photographer months ago and it was only last week that I was finally able to get into the studio.

I thought once I had the photos, I would be ready to move forward.

But instead, I feel like it is a lateral move.

I need different pictures.

And I’m ok with that.

But I’m not ok with this procrastination.

I have to do something.

Writing about it here is my way in.

I really hate how slow this platform is.

I’m also dismayed that they have reformatted things in a way that I cannot seem to find how to add a photo.

I have a few that I did like and thought I would share.

Ugh.

I think I have to call it a night.

Let the thoughts percolate, sleep on things, take baby step actions and move things forward and not beat myself up.

I don’t know anyone who has ever been beaten into change.

Grace.

Give myself grace and trust that when I show up here.

I will show up elsewhere.