Descending the gonads.



Doubt is the Denver boot of ambition. It’s the ALS of creativity. It makes us stumble, arms stretched out, in the darkness of our psyche. It makes us miss all kinds of golden opportunities, too busy crapping our pants with fear.

I doubt everything. God, the stove burners, myself and all the others. I would love to have great confidence. Some James Bond in the trust of my jaw, some Tina Fey in my hop.  Making finger guns to the suits. Banging the doors down and horning in: “You didn’t know you were waiting for me, but here I am, you lucky bastards! » Surely, I would have had a career, instead of living in a matchbox, wondering where my next paycheck will come from.

Not only have I hesitated to hand out a resume or a business card, I’ve held a chloroform rag on the mouth of my internal cheerleaders. I worked here and there, surfing my good and bad fortune, unsure of my value. I appeared as an outlandish Valkyrie with the language of a cheap barmaid but inside I tormented: “Isschhhh, hoooo, humm, no, I … I don’t know … what if? Look out!! «And when I was told «No», I shook my head «OK» and, without protesting, got back home with my self-esteem as beaten up as Rihanna’s face circa 2009.

Just this blog alone: for all the “You go, girl!! » I cling to the “Too personal, vulgar and weird”.  And at that moment, I knead my heart; question myself, confused and dubious. Do I make people uneasy? Should I change my style? Is it more important to please everyone or attract a sliver of true fans? Finally, the God damn stove burners, are they off or what?

So now, I’ve been rebuilding my dim-witted ego for more than a year and I’m breaking free from creativity brakes. Instead, I jump, bungee style, with open arms and cheeks flapping in the wind. Fuck iiiiiiiiiiiiiitttttttt !! I’m awesoooooome!!

Yes, I know that I may crash with a big thud. But, the hell with it. I write like no one and that’s amazing. Not for everyone, but amazinggazingazing! I am aware that I incur the odds of falling flat and bleeding from my teeth, but what if some fellows find the flying crazy woman funny and interesting?

Without becoming arrogant, it’s essential to be bold if we want to survive blandness. What joy do you get from staying in comfort zones? Conforming to safety never gives anything as good as a walk on the razor’s edge.

I no longer want to assume the worst and refuse myself the possibility of the best. So I printed this thought on the picture of a sunrise written in Monotype Corsiva font and I pinned it above my bed. I grabbed my confidence, rolled it up in a bunch in my panties and I’m practicing walking as if I had balls of steel. My testies are descending and my self-worth is rising.

When I’ll accost influential people that impress me with: «Hey, champ! Gotta job for your humble scribe? », I’ll stop. ‘Till then… «Gonads! Go!»


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