Seven post-it notes

A row of post-it notes line my bathroom mirror, urging me to write. One by one, they speak directly to one of the fears, stories or behaviours that gets in the way of me sitting down like I am right now, tapping words into sentences and paragraphs into being. I can’t figure out if I’m really a writer, in my core, the way some people just are dancers or painters or engineers, because there are such huge chunks of time when the only things I write are email-based pleasantries that are sincere, yes, but a drain, too. I hope you had a great holiday. Enjoy the scorching weather! Isn’t it such a strange world we’re living in…

Or maybe I am a writer, precisely because, as I’ve said before, writing is one of the only things that will not let me go. Dancing is another one. Motherhood is, more recently, a third.

So there they are, a row of seven 3x3 blue sticky notes, each containing a Sharpied message, written in block capitals so I won’t miss the urgency of the message.

I AM A WRITER. I BELIEVE I CAN DO THIS.

I AM ENOUGH.

MY STORY MATTERS.

COMMIT. NOW. JUST START.

ELLOA, YOU HAVE TO WRITE

HOW WILL YOU KNOW WHAT IT IS UNTIL YOU CREATE IT?

FOR YOU, AND FOR YOUR CHILD. SET AN EXAMPLE! xx

I am a writer. I believe I can do this. Number 1 matters because claiming and owning our identities as creative people feels important. A writer is someone who writes. In saying I believe I can do “this,” I am overriding the vague by penetrating sense that I can never and will never write a book.

I am enough. Number 2 is simple but needed. Insecurity, self-doubt and imposter syndrome are familiar companions. I look at the contemporary writers I admire – Cheryl Strayed, Rob Bell, Elizabeth Gilbert, Pandora Sykes – and see myself as so different to them. In my mind, they are the real deal while I’m an amateur. I don’t know if I’ll keep post-it number 2 up, because honestly, it would be a serious identity shift to ever consider that I could write as prolifically as any of these people do, and because I know that so many great artists don’t see themselves as genuine at all but are also hounded by self-doubt and a sense that they’re a fraud. For now though, this message reminds me that this is not a competition and that it’s ok to be where I am.

My story matters. Number 3 feels tricky and potent. I want to tell more stories. I want to tell my stories. I want to count myself in, even though my stories are not the most remarkable ones that have ever existed. I’m not the most extreme, or fascinating, or smart, or well-read, or well-travelled person. Much of my life has been squeezed by the multitude of fears I carry and the pummelling I’ve given myself about who I am. I’ve often felt like I could have lived quite a different life, a braver life, a life where I spend my days doing the trapeze, learning to tango or doing parkour. I’m laughing at myself as I write this – perfectionism comes in so many sneaky disguises, doesn’t it? But anyway, with these three words, I’m reminding myself to include my story in the wild and unpredictable unfolding of the human species.

Commit. Now. Just start. Number 4 is what prompted me to write this. Now means now, not tomorrow, not one day. Just starting is one of the greatest pieces of advice I have ever come across for blocked creatives (as demonstrated by Kyle Cease in this great video). The post-its have been up for three days at this point, so I guess ‘now’ means ‘within the next 72 hours’… hehe. (Side note: in a text, this would be the exact point where I’d include an emoji. Writing on phones has changed writing, hasn’t it?)

Elloa, you have to write. Number 5 is the first of the notes I wrote. The urgency here feels palpable. Last year, I went to an incredible talk by Rob Bell and asked him a question, which led to me writing this piece. He said, “If you don’t write it, does it feel like something inside you is dying?” I wrestle a bit with that question, because honestly, I don’t know. Apparently, I can go months without writing – but as I said earlier, it’s the one thing that won’t let me go. And beyond the fantasy of a life full of tango/parkour/trapezing, I think what I really want is a life in which I write.

How will you know what it is until you create it? Number 6 is my reminder to myself that art will not form in the mind alone. Even if I have an idea in my mind of what I want to create, it always comes through my hands in a way I didn’t expect. For example, I didn’t know that I was going to write this today. I thought I was going to write a piece that began, “I’ve got nothing” (as in, nothing to say). But a few hundred words later, here we are. I know I want to write a memoir. I know I want to write honestly about my life, but, as with making a baby, it’s impossible to know what (or who) you’re creating until you create it.

For you, and for your child. Set an example! xx And finally, number 7. No, I’m not pregnant. Not even trying to be right now. But as I seriously contemplate motherhood, I realise that I don’t want my child’s story to be, “My mum always wanted to write.” I want their story to be, “My mum wanted to be a writer, so she made it happen.” I’ve spent so long – so long – battling a sense of inertia, passiveness and lack of agency in my life. One of the many privileges I have is that I could choose pretty much any profession or path and find a way to make it happen. And I really really don’t want to be looking back on my life with a story in which I nearly made it happen. The ‘kiss kiss’ sign off is a sign of gentleness, a reminder to myself that these words are written with love. That, I think, really matters. So many of us bully ourselves throughout our lives.

* * *

So here I am, back on the wagon for today. It feels good. The half hour I’ve spent doing this has watered and nurtured the soil in which the “I can do this” belief can grow.

So much of life is influenced by the stories we tell ourselves about it. What story do you want to tell about yours?

(Photo by Danielle MacInnes on Unsplash. Thank you, Danielle.)