Why So Scared?

Writing is the thing I do.  So it figures that I should be able to do it well, right?

It's my mission in life, or so I've told myself my whole life.  So it should come easy, right?

It shouldn't be so hard to sit down at the computer and do it.  But it is.  Often.  And because I have this expectation that I should be brilliant at the first draft and I should write five to ten scripts a year, I'm constantly in this place where I'm disappointed in myself.

It would be so easy to blame my father for his disapproval.  And because he's dead, I think I will.

Okay, I won't.  But I do have to change the patterns that allow me to give into that way of thinking. 

I'm REALLY trying hard to do that.  I've been doing all of this work in that direction for so long. 

Another convenient, yet untrue theory: Since my Dad died, karma should be knocking down my door to flood me with good fortune.  How I wish that were true.

Yet, I soldier on.  I went to the EDD office today to make sure I still qualified for unemployment benefits.  I had to listen to a video.  I had to make sure I was looking for work constantly.  It put me back in touch with the real world.  The world where people aren't trying to become writers or actors or musicians.  The world where people are chemists and bartenders and clinicians who have worked at their companies for 20 plus years and are now trying to figure out what they're going to do now. 

I'm lucky.  I've created a life where I still think that the pursuit of my life's dream is important.  I'm lucky that I even have a life's dream.  So with a life of such luxury, I need to stop complaining and keep writing.  Stop being scared. 

It's just blood, sweat and tears.  What's the big deal?