Name it

by Amy on October 16, 2019

I would like to be a New York Times Bestselling author.

There I said it.

Several things go through my mind as I admit this in public…

I think about the experts who say it’s next to impossible to do so. I imagine them reading this post…I can see the glow of their laptops reflecting off their faces as they think, “Oh the arrogance! The naiveté’. How self-deluded!” And then I feel ashamed.

I think about Liz Gilbert or Glennon Doyle. Not their books which are amazing, but their social media posts! The wisdom, insight, inspiration… and I tell myself being a NYT BS means being Liz Gilbert or Glennon Doyle/ Amy Pearson does not possess that kind of insight on demand. And then I feel ashamed.

I think about a conversation with an influential family member who believes in self-sacrifice above almost everything else. Then I think of the level of self-absorption it takes to write a memoir. And then I feel ashamed…

I was people-watching in my car this morning as I took my kids to school. The woman I pass each morning who manages the cross stop, a bald guy driving a cargo truck, a gal I accidentally cut off at the four way stop… I wonder what they dream about. Or do they?

It’s a wonder that any of us dream at all.

It’s so much easier to accept the story of not enough. To buy into the idea that dreams are not for us. To stop ourselves before we can be labelled naïve, delusional, misguided, irresponsible. To fear that the success we secretly dream about will only bring more trouble, more scrutiny, more shame. To behave in accordance with our ancestors, to believe what they say, do as they do, hold their values close or else suffer the most primal of human fears: isolation.

It’s just more fucking convenient, isn’t it, to deny our light and believe in our limits?

Knowing this, I can make a choice. A conscious one. With intention.

I can sit in the shit of my own self-rejection believing that I am small, that I am inadequate, that I am not enough…

Or I can risk being called a FOOL. I can accept rejection – by experts I respect, by disappointed readership, by heads of families…

And know that I have a choice:

To sit in fear of isolation and the fear of my own light,

…or begin the quest.

I can choose to fight these demons. I can believe in my light. I can enter the darkness and trust that I am enough.

I want to be a New York Times best selling author.

What’s your dream?

DO YOU HAVE THE COURAGE TO NAME IT?

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