I'm reading
Linchpin by Seth Godin—or sort of reading it, in the lazy, distracted, uncommitted, skipping-around way of reading that has become almost habitual for me since the birth of the Critter. I'm not particularly interested in what Godin has to say about becoming a linchpin or being a linchpin or whatever, but I am very interested in what he has to say about my lizard brain (tormenting me with fear and shame) and the resistance (pushing me to give into my fears that what I really want to do and say is indeed shameful).
The chapter on the resistance begins with this quotation of Steve Jobs: "
Real artists ship." I've been mulling over these words since I read them a few days ago, for two reasons.
- Why do I spend so much time thinking thinking thinking and worrying about how I'm going to meet my next deadline? My not meeting a job-related deadline is a rare exception, and every time I do meet a deadline, it has nothing to do with how much I worried about the project or the deadline. Getting it done is just a habit.
- Why has so much time passed since I last sent out a batch of poems for consideration by literary journals?
When it comes to shipping, methinks I have been worrying about the wrong thing.
