It was Sunday evening. My 27 week pregnant wife and I had completed yet another marathon day keeping up with our three toddler-aged boys (5, 4, and 1). We built legos, read books, went to the park, searched for turtles, fought with foam swords, provided countless uppies, cured boo boos, changed poopy diapers, and tiptoed through a mess of toys in every room.
We live in beautiful chaos, but that joyful world we create and are privileged to partake in also drains every ounce of energy from our aging bodies and minds. At the end of the day, when the resistance finally waves the white flag, accepts defeat and heads to bed, we clean the house, do the dishes, run loads of laundry, and then collapse on the couch at around 8:47 pm, marking the end of our marathon that started at 5:30 that morning (excluding the 2:30 am bottle).
My wife — in her usual state — fell asleep within minutes on the couch, kindle still in hand, having read for less than five minutes as her pregnant body tried to recover from the day’s demands. I had just finished my own (ahem, hard copy) book about writing as I tried to regain the inspiration and conviction to pick up the craft again. I was (still am) unconvinced it had done the trick. This flame reignited a few weeks ago when my mother-in-law gave me a moleskin notebook for Christmas inscribed with the words “Keep writing.” Despite the mayhem of the holiday season, those two words stayed with me.
So there I was at 9:52 pm, struggling to keep my eyes open, laying head to toe with my sleeping wife on the couch, Macbook on my lap, staring at that terrifying but somewhat tantalizing blank white Medium screen.
I didn’t know what to write — what to say— what to do .
It is hard to describe the tower of self-doubt that rests between me and taking the step to write a few words. My mind does not take pity on the timid:
“You’ve tried this before.” “You’ll give this up in a week.” “You don’t have the discipline.” “You don’t have the work ethic.” “You don’t have the talent.” “You don’t have the time.” “You will fail.” “Don’t waste your time.”
That is the abyss of self-doubt that shouts from the depths as I walk across a rickety rope bridge of what’s left of my self-confidence toward the mountain I’m trying to climb. And what’s so hard to acknowledge is my mind is likely trying to protect itself — protect me — from the mental anguish it has endured over the last 15 years as I embarked on venture after venture, poured my heart and soul into idea after idea, only for every last one to end in failure.
I have stood on this bridge in this exact spot so many times. So many times.
My feet refuse to listen to the mental command to take a step forward.
My body knows. My mind knows. My heart knows. We all know how this ends — in the abyss of despair below my feet. Where, several weeks from now, I will wake up on my back staring up at the mountaintop, bruised and beaten, realizing yet again I didn’t have what it takes.
And yet…
And yet, I am here. Standing on this rickety bridge. Despite knowing my failure is all but certain — despite knowing the agony another failure will cause to my mind and soul — I am still standing here. Trying to get to my mountain.
Wondering…
Wondering maybe — maybe this time is different. Maybe I can overcome this blizzard of self-doubt and take one step, just one step without falling. Then another. Then maybe one more. Gain some momentum and reach the base of my mountain where I grab a hold of that rocky surface with my bare hands. Grab hold of my mountain with all that I have left and begin my climb. One. Last. Time. Knowing if I give up, knowing if I fall, there is no next time as my body has grown tired of picking itself off the floor. Tired of climbing the mile high cliffs of self-doubt to get back to this rickety bridge. Tired of trying to hold it all together for just one more run. Just one more chance.
Just one more.
I feel the wind on my back urging me forward.
I wonder.
Do I have what it takes?
Will I climb my mountain?
P.S. For anyone who may be staring up at their own mountain, holding on to what’s left of their self-confidence after failing so many times before, terrified of the pain that comes with being vulnerable and putting yourself out there into the world, my prayer for you is that you let your mind wonder, just one more time, “what if?”
What if all of those past failures, all of that pain and suffering you endured, were exactly what was required to prepare you for this moment? This time? This one last run up your mountain?
I wonder. Will you climb your mountain?
