Which chicken are you? (I’m the top left!)
How many times have you asked yourself ‘Am I ready’? Most days I wake up with that question on my mind. Facing the day, wrangling in the children, tackling the To Do list, supporting friends, high-fiving my husband, and writing relevant words are just a few things that I look forward to, but wonder if I’m really ready for. As I brush out the tangles in my hair, I also try to simultaneously untangle my thoughts each morning. All in an effort to be ready.
What if one day I decide I’m not ready? I’m not a scaredy cat about everything, but there are some days I’d admit to being chicken. Chicken is such a crude way to refer to fear, and both words (chicken and fear) correlate in more than one way. Next Monday I might fear going to school because I know I’m not prepared to give the presentation I have scheduled. Six weeks from today I will most likely fear sending my manuscript to my editor, because she might not like it, and yesterday I feared for my husband going on a mission trip. Fear can be debilitating if you let it be, and I don’t intend to allow it to have any power over me in 2015.
I’m planning to play chicken with fear. That’s probably not where you thought I was going with this post when you red the title. Chicken is a game people play to face a fear, think Footloose. Whether the players are ready or not they have to go, and the first to bow out loses. Do you face each day like a game of chicken?
“you know when you’re not ready; you may be wrong about being ready, but you’re rarely wrong about being not ready.” ~Margaret Atwood
So, are you ready? I’m about to blow your mind… You shouldn’t be writing that story if you’re not ready. You shouldn’t be publishing that story if you’re not ready. And, how many of us should play chicken with that novel anyway? I’ll be the first person to admit that early in my writerly life I made excuses, dragging my heels and avoiding the inevitable. Constantly ducking out of the game of chicken, I became a loser repeatedly, on a daily basis. The inspiration faded and the motivation dwindled, and I stopped writing. Gasp!
What’s funny is my world didn’t stop turning. I still had the To Do lists, high fives, and friends, but I no longer had a passion for writing, and I felt that loss like a child whose stepped away from their parents at an amusement park. Surrounded by so many people and things that could possibly bring comfort and diversion if I let them. The problem was that other things would not come close to bringing me the joy that sharing a story does. Writing brings me just as many challenges as it does joy, and that’s why I’ve got to stop being a chicken and start playing chicken more.
This is year not ready isn’t an option. Bring on the chicken!
