“Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it.... Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.” —Helen Keller

The impulse to create generates a delicate spark. When gifted an enthusiasm of the tiniest size, we feel a lift of possibility, and our multi-brains fire in sync. If we don’t grab the momentum, hesitation plops us back into stagnation, full-blown inertia (the “object at rest” kind). This is too often followed by the craving to numb out and dumb down. Anything that fills this creative void will suck the fun out of Life. (I’m fighting a flashback of “The Pit of Despair” torture scene in The Princess Bride).

I recently went through a spell of stagnation. I put off writing, skirted my pink yoga mat, and ignored the call to walk up my hill. I tried blaming health issues, the cold and rain (the stuff we begged for), singularly uninspired, “pooh-poohs” were echoing in my head. The ones that insist:

· It’s too late, I’ll start tomorrow

· I’m too lazy, tired, something…

· It’s already been written (made, said, painted, planted, collaged) better by others.

· I’m sick of trying so hard to be “good”

If my own defeatist notions are seconded by a backhanded compliment, “I liked your previous essay better,” I can be undone for days. And then, just as swiftly, a sweet comment can get the engine running. And don’t assume it’s isolated to creative projects. Years ago, I confessed to my therapist how I had a hard time committing to a journal habit, and she admitted she felt the same, inadvertently giving me permission to not strive for a higher standard. When I showed artwork to my dad, “Looks like you’re having fun,” told me not to bother. We inspire and derail each other every day without intending to.

I’m in an exceptionally rich position to observe the phenomenon of stop/start: as a therapist, mentor, and a writer who seeks out other creatives. You’d think I’d have figured out by now how to avoid this trap for myself. Nope. In the spirit of ethical duty, I must put forward a true fact:

EVERYONE IS AFRAID OF REJECTION

We are inborn with hunger to connect with others. And history has proved the link to people with new ideas are often suspect, resulting in someone, somewhere, not liking them. We humans are so messed up by this topic I am almost afraid to write about it. The atavistic dread of rejection is the source of social anxiety, stage fright, and suicidal thinking. We link the feelings to the fear of failure and weirdly, to the fear of success. The latter sounds like … “What if I cannot deliver on the idea? Why try if I don’t know if it will work?” and can keep us from starting a business, writing a book, having a baby, asking a new friend to lunch, or even putting on shoes to go for a walk. We magically turn the possibility of doing something compelling, even fun, into the inevitability of being a disappointment. Abracathppft.

So, back to my Cynthia-o-centric reason for a lack of enthusiasm. I bravely foolishly egotistically looked at the substantial list of those who had unsubscribed from my little cyber-rag. Some I admired unadmired me. Accounts I didn’t follow unfollowed me. People I thought I had given love and support were now bored, pissed off, disenchanted with my humble rantings. With ME.

I confessed my peeking to a beloved, and she said “Oh! NEVER do that again,” which helped. And then I was told at a dinner party, “Your essays are so inspiring,” and these five words got me going again. In the same way that it doesn’t take much to put us into the doldrums, a hint of encouragement gets us sailing again. The only way to increase confidence is by braving the certainty of rejection. We who produce, must face the knowledge that inevitably someone, somewhere, will think us egotistical. The larger the launch, the heavier the judgment. And the big names? The Oprah’s and Taylor’s and Brene’s and Beyonce’s? (needs the accent) They for sure had their slumps, time spent in the swamp. But someone, perhaps a deep mystical Force, re-enthused them.

In case you were hoping: we’re not going to escape our wiring. Success doesn’t undo it, but it can rekindle more courage into the launch of the next new plan. Just accept that it will cause a tug-of-war between the joy of newness, and the threat of being eaten by bears. At any age, it’s scary to put ourselves into the world, to risk meh. Perhaps easier when choicelessly plunged into change by graduation, heartbreak, new career, babies. But my sense is that it’s trickier for those who are aging out of previous roles and relationships.

“What’s the point of trying?” I used to be afraid of this question. But my answer is now firm and confident: If we don’t aspire to improve or invent, we stagnate. We are born with the right to explore a dream to a dead end, morphing into the next new thing. Ask yourself whom you admire? What people do you love to watch, read, or want to play with? Do they wait for permission before they dare to plan a solo excursion, take an art or language class, start ballet or a new business at age 70? You better get on it, by the way. Time and life are amazingly unforgiving. Just saying…. Because those who love you will always love you. And those who can’t? Forgive them their limitations, but don’t let them lure you into their stinky pond.

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Unstagnating