Reading this, I almost believe I could climb Dhaulagiri I just by committing to it. Almost, but not really--which brings me to the flipside of Murray’s point: what happens if you haven’t committed? You may proceed, but you’ll probably not succeed. So pay attention to hesitations. When you realize you have one foot in and the other out, it’s time to make a call.
“In” isn’t always the right call. Last Saturday, I bailed on a 10K run. I’d signed up for it in January 2020, expecting to run in April, but it was cancelled. Earlier this year, I found it was going forward, and with an email, my 2020 registration was transferred to 2021. Initially, I was eager for the opportunity to run in the company of others after a year of distancing and solo exercise.
But a month out from the event, I still hadn’t begun to train for it. As the race got closer, I waited to feel excited.
Nothing.
The day before the race, I forgot to pick up my race packet.
A plan made by the me of January 2020 had begun to feel like a plan made by someone else—and was a bad fit on the me of July 2021. I was hesitating and not committing.
The night before the race, with some internal debate, externalized in conversation with my partner (possibly over a glass of wine, which possibly influenced the debate), I decided not to run.
What does it mean, conversely, to really commit to a project? This may sound like a simplistic question with an obvious answer, but when I apply it to my own Finish It project, it’s not so straightforward. I noticed something recently—something that sounded like a hesitation tucked into a commitment. Talking to friends, I referred to my “little newsletter” (yes, this little newsletter). What did I mean by “little”? I guess I was implying that the things I write for Finish It are not going to turn a tide. Obviously. But who ever said they had to be that “big”?
When I’m not downplaying my commitment, I see all that has happened since I started writing on these topics one year ago (thank you for reading, by the way!). Writing about creative process, self-directed work, and what it takes to move it forward if you’ve gotten stuck—all of these have led to personal and communal discoveries, renewed connections with old friends, and the serendipity of chatting with kindred strangers through social media and workshops I’ve led. My writing has helped me think through new subjects, and to go in unpredicted directions. When I see my writing through that lens, it’s not little; it’s discovering. Discovering by committing.
What about you--what are you discovering these days?
Sarah
|
|
|
|
