Timidity is defined as lacking in self-assurance; courage; bravery; easily alarmed.
Every writer has a distinct voice. It is nothing short of a miraculous journey in finding that unique voice. And if a writer desires the profession, he/she must learn and recognize it. It has taken me a thousand light years, first to accept the call of writer and more years to physically “do the work.” Life is beautiful in such a way that when we’ve crossed a finish line victoriously only to look up and see another starting line. I must ask for forgiveness from those that have always supported and encouraged me and to those who’ve decided to take this ride along with me. You see, I’ve found my voice. My writing voice. I accept it probably isn’t the standard-journalistic-school-taught voice. But it is me, divinely ME. The ability to weave a picture sequence in a reader’s mind through words only is what I am capable of, can do almost effortlessly. Yep, that’s me. But I realize I am yet using said writer’s voice in a timid manner. Imagine holding a megaphone up to my mouthpiece ready to grab the attention of a crowded noisy room but only being able to whisper the words. Or running away from the boogey man on a treadmill. Accomplishing the task, but in such a meager way, my soul senses the inaccuracy. Not that I seek attention. My search is for authenticity and I am learning to care less and less about approval. And at the seat of authenticity is BRAVERY (refer back to the definition above), the ability to be present, heard, and self approved. There is no middle scope between the giants of FEAR and AUTHENTICITY, no gray area. And though I am beginning to feel like I’m conquering the fear of allowing my voice to be heard, somewhere along the way I’ve invited TIMIDITY to the party.
Self: What shall I write today? Shall I free hand? Work on a few short stories? Self goes about busing herself to write. Self is elated.
TIMIDITY: You may write, in fact, I am almost sure you will however you will do it quietly, not ruffle any feathers and pay attention to the critics!
Self then finds herself in a corner with pen and pad in reach but aimlessly staring at nothing. NOTHING. INACTION. EMPTY PAPER. UNTOUCHED PEN. PROCRASTATION. ANOTHER DAY.
Forgive me, Provocateurs, for allowing timidity to seep through my fingers and paralyze my thoughts. Forgive me for all of the days I allowed timidity to rob me of expressive musings and funny antidotes. Short stories. Fashion exposes. NOVELS. Forgive me for not remembering I am always a student. You have my deepest, most sincerest apologies.
Today I take back my courage and foresight and press toward the mark. Today I jerk the welcome mat right from under stupid TIMIDITY and close the door in its face. Screw timidity. I am here, loud and present with my distinctive voice.
P.S. Happy Birthday Grandma! Mrs. Irene Fontenot Arvie, we miss you!