Debilitating Self-Scrutiny

Inhibition’s devastating.

There’s something to be said about self-control and thoughtfulness, about risk management and sensitivity, about checking and balancing the inner id, but it’s far too easy to drift (or, in my case, plummet) to the other extreme.

I’ve made a habit of “editing” myself with the ardor of the professional TV censor, to the point that I barely live at all.

One thought: “Can’t say that – you might be wrong, you might hurt someone’s feelings inadvertently, you might cause a conflict of some sort.”

Another thought: “Can’t do that – you might fail, it might be the wrong path, you might hurt someone, you might disadvantage yourself somehow.”

A lack of passion, enthusiasm, purpose, accomplishment springs mostly from the fact that I do not actually permit myself to live.

It’s funny how introspective you could be and still never see the nose plainly jutting from your own face. Staring inward is not quite the same as stepping back and soaking in the whole picture, viewing yourself (uncomfortably, I will add) from the outside.

The problem is that life is not meant to be constantly edited. Life is necessarily lived in the moment, not in the past or future (coincidentally, two states of being that do not really exist, at least for us mortal non-omnipotent beings). The only moment we can actually change is the Now, that fleeting fluid split-second of time in which we have volition to act, the ability to affect ourselves and the world. It is only in the Now that we actually live.

It seems like my moments of effectuality have been consistently squandered on scrutinizing myself with the relentless stringency of an obsessive-compulsive who can’t help but drive home three or four times to make sure he locked the door and turned off the burner.

Got a note from another blogger today that pretty much says the same:

I think you hit upon an important theme … of writing in general. It's the ability to write in the moment and live in that moment. It's funny how people will read [my work] as if I was writing a dissertation on a subject. They want to pick this point or that point apart.

I keep saying, "It's descriptive more than prescriptive." It's a snapshot of what I thought and felt…

… amen to a writer's calling to be vulnerable in the moment, even knowing that what you say might "dog you" as you say, forever.

Ironically, my youngest son is probably my salvation in this regard. In some ways, he and I lead almost humorously antithetical lives – I think excessively before doing, he does excessively before thinking. I'll never get anything done, he gets too much accomplished.

This aspect of Brendan can be very frustrating to me, due to the [what I consider unnecessary] chaos he can leave around and behind him. So much mess could be avoided if he would only stop for a second and consider the ramifications of the deed upon which he is about to embark.

But he also is free in a way that I am so NOT.

And you always know where he stands on something, while I hide my thoughts so much that even when I voice them, they remain watered-down and unconvincing.

What am I so afraid of, that I am unwilling to just “leap into the sky” and flap my wings?

Question for later… so I can think about it some more. :)