As you may have seen, I’ve been writing a book that explains the purpose and meaning behind Kindling. I notice that every time I go to write, I get an overwhelming sense of dread. I read what I’ve written and feel like I’m going to puke. It’s nowhere near good enough. I’m nowhere near good enough.
Part of me asks: Why expose myself to that? Why not choose things that give with joy?
But I have a deeper knowing: that dread is the tell-tale sign that this work is profound and important for me. It activates some unrealized potentials in me. It pushes me past what I believe I am capable and worthy of. If I didn’t pursue it, some part of me would never come truly alive.
What stirs up that same terrible mix of dread and purpose for you? Maybe now, in our self-isolation, is the time for us to sink into it and find out what is buried under all the muck.
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