Monday, April 24, 2006

My Place to Stand

I’ve never been paranoid. That requires a sureness of thinking about such things that I don’t have. Instead, I’ve been afraid−afraid that people weren’t telling me something I should know, afraid that they might be spending time while waiting for something better to do.

It’s an interesting juxtaposition of confidence and insecurity that makes a writer. Both have to be there. Without one the words would never make it together. Without the other writing would come second to deciding who would play each role when the novel became a movie.

The fear comes from the insecurity. The lack of paranoia come from the confidence.
When my life’s on concrete, I wrap the two of them−insecurity and confidence in a blanket of hope. I set them gently in the arms of faith and love and carry them with me as my shield and my sword.

But when my life is on sand . . . when my life is on the shifting sand the blanket falls away and I find myself fearing that this writer’s intelligence could be following a foolish heart. The shield of insecurity melts over things. The sword of my confidence bends at the not being certain.

I know how to give the other guy a place to stand.

Will I ever know how to give myself one that’s solid and sure?
−me strauss Letting me be

8 comments:

Cheryl said...

But maybe you only stand solid when you are 'the other guy' and others give you somewhere.
And maybe if you fell, if you could forgive and see this as their failing, not yours, then you might find you had wings all along.
I suspect you of wings, and that, dear friend, is my attempt at shoring up your foundation. You deserve very solid ground, honestly.

Dawn said...

Liz, your self-disclosure causes me to reflect on my own shifting sands. I think the dance between confidence & security is found in all truly human beings, writers or not. The lucky ones recognize the dance and know that the music will eventually change. Those not so lucky get stuck or paranoid.

Your description here is so perfectly you:When my life’s on concrete, I wrap the two of them−insecurity and confidence in a blanket of hope. I set them gently in the arms of faith and love and carry them with me as my shield and my sword.

A place where I find consolation when the music changes & the sand shifts is to listen to my heart and not my fear. From where I stand, you don't need to worry about compromising your writer's intelligence by following your heart. Nothing foolish there.

Thank you for posting this, Liz.

ME Strauss said...

What beatiful words, Cheryl. How lovely you write. You say you don't but there's heart in each one. Thank you. It wonderful to see you.
Liz

ME Strauss said...

Thank you for listening, Dawn and telling me what you hear. When the words are about myself, just like everyone else, I don't know if they're true or not.

Kelley Bell said...

Me thinks we two be standing in the same sand. LOL

The dream life of a writer is an incurable manic depressive-condition.

One miniute the ideas are flooding out so fast you can barely find enough scraps of paper to put them on before they escape. The next miniute, a deep depression hits. You question every thought, see folly in every concept, and feel utterly lost in the endless sea of obscurity.

Shifting sand indeed.

ME Strauss said...

You could be right about the two of us, sliding on the shifting sand--geting sunburns, forgeting sometimes that we're at the beach.

The dance between confidence and insecurity is more pronounced on the constant prowl for work.

dog1net said...

Liz,
Beautiful metaphore: "When my life’s on concrete, I wrap the two of them−insecurity and confidence in a blanket of hope."
Confidence? Insecurity? The continual struggle with finding balance and acceptance with both. But when we're honest with ourselves, and allow ourselves an opportunity to be introspective, we begin to discover a "sureness of thinking," as you say, that helps us face our greatest fears. Nothing "sand" about what you've shared and revealed about the angst most of us as writers experience when we try to find the words for our intuitions.
Scot

ME Strauss said...

Thank you, Scot,
It so nice to have your words with me. Sometimes I can get lost inside this head of mine. I wish I knew half about writing what you do.