There is an old pattern circling the drain of my psyche. It is the gross wad of hair we will affectionately call, Knotty. Knotty reminds me that I am shy and insecure. And, certainly not good enough to do the thing I want to do.

Danger! Danger!

Problem is, by the time I notice Knotty these days, I am already in the middle of doing the thing I am supposedly incapable of doing. Last night, I was actually finished doing the creative business thing (and being completely awesome and magical in the process) and had moved on to spooning a large helping of pumpkin curry into a bowl, before I noticed Knotty. I guess that is the definition of an ingrained pattern. Every time I look away, I forget it’s there.

Even so, the pattern tries with all its might to remind me what I am.

The thing is, I’m not shy and insecure. I seem to have been something else for quite some time, now. I am talking out loud to people I admire about my work and not feeling the need to pretend to be anything more (or less) than exactly what I am. I’m not vigilant for moments when I can casually allude to a mystery about myself that might lead the admired listener to believe I am interesting and capable.

I am using direct language, and finding it exhilarating.

Being real all the time is not a decision. It is my natural state of being. I am relaxed without that irritating grain of nausea in the back of my stomach, because at any moment someone is going to realise I am not good enough.

Holy crap!

I’ve passed through the magical green door that waits patiently in the most secret corners of the universe for unsuspecting voyagers. I didn’t even have to paint it black. (I’m pretty sure I’ve just mangled the meaning of that snippet of lyric and managed to either offend someone, or make them laugh.)

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