I want to have fun again.

It’s happening again.

I write. Then I erase. Then I write. Then I erase.

My words don’t make sense and the emotions I’m trying to express fall flat amidst dozens of deleted sentences. On most days, I close my laptop, tuck away my journal and do something else.

Obviously, I’m not good at this writing thing.

When did my ability disqualify me?

I can’t remember when the pressure started. The pressure to perform to a certain caliber. Every time I attempt to create, I find myself paralyzed between my need to express myself and the desire to create something spectacular.

When did I stop having fun?

I remember in middle school having a journal that I drew in every day. During lunchtime, breaks, and in between study periods I would draw random characters with the silliest names I could think of paired with the most fantastical stories.

To give you an idea of what I was writing, one of my favorite characters, was named Shishimanini and I’m pretty sure she was the last of 27 kids who were all named the letters in the alphabet.

See what I mean?

No meaning or purpose. In my middle school mind, it was funny, and so I created her. Eventually, my classmates began to ask me about my characters. I soon found that my art was not only amusing to me, but was enjoyed by my class as well. They began making requests and soon my book was filled with my classmates involved in some of the silliest and unrealistic stories. I can’t remember most of them, but I do know at some point my classmate Tyler was one of the most famous pirates in The Great Candy Sea.

Now that I think about it, elementary and middle school were some of the happiest years of my life. One might think it was because I didn’t have any responsibilities, but I would argue that children have a habit of creating their own responsibilities in their own child world often unbeknownst to us adults (sorry for the side bar).

I believe I was happiest because my mind was the freest it has ever been. No idea was too silly and no drawing was too ugly. Everything was fun, exciting, cool, and a good idea.

I created uninhibited by the need for success.

So how did I get here? Unable to finish a single short story because the first sentence “doesn’t sound right”. I used to concoct some of the most insane scenarios in the span of 30 minutes without hesitation!

Now, every creative attempt and even my proudest works rest on a bed of doubt, blanketed by my fear that I’m not good enough.

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