Couple weeks ago I took some days off the computer to coddle a round of seasonal depression. In that time I listened through the Calm Masterclass “Creative Living Beyond Fear” by Elizabeth Gilbert.
In it she suggests an interesting exercise to let your fear write you a letter. Here is what my fear wrote and my reply to it.
Dear Andrey,
This is your Fear writing. You have chased some things to the corners of our mind. I would like to put them straight.
You lack direction. You don’t know where are you headed. And if you did — you wouldn’t know how to start.
You are at the limit of your “smart”. Which was always about enough to get you a pat on the head. And not enough to make a difference.
You question your ambitions in life. And the truth is you have none. Which is for the better, because having them would be but a disappointment of not being able to reach them.
You get to speak out because the Internet gives a megaphone to everyone these days. You don’t get for that to matter any.
You make things no one cares for. And after that, you abandon them to rot.
You are tired of people leaving you. And it won’t be long before the rest of them do.
You are terrified that this is it. And it is.
Dear Fear,
Thank you for getting in touch!
You have been trying to discuss this for a while. And I am sorry that I neglected to participate.
You seem to talk a lot about outcomes. And let us be honest here… When did we ever care about those? When did we care to do anything for a bestowed carrot and not a smug satisfaction of nailing it?
You talk about racing for significance. And I understand that the time for that is finite.
And I am an insignificant strand in the fabric of this marvelous humanity lifeform. Which fascinates me so much whenever I care to look. That left the caves, reached the skies, and heads for the stars.
(You got me a little teary–eyed here, you jerk.)
I might not matter any more as that tiny invisible strand.
But I cannot matter any less.
You talk about things and words we make for others. And they are not for the others, are they?
The things I do I believe in. The things I believe in I would do alone, in the dark, to the audience of a wind blowing them apart. And have a blast.
Many had left us. It was not for nothing. They left all the feelings, and memories, and lessons for us to thrive on.
And everyone who had left… we had to find first. And we will find the people to walk along with us, again and again.
Is this it? Well… this is plenty!
It’s a lovely sunny morning too. Let’s go find something to make.
IB #