A blog with a sole, lonely post promising that “this will be great, I will write this everyday”. A calendar with notes on the first few days or weeks and then just empty pages. Half written pieces of text in a word document that seem to go nowhere. Sketches, dribblings. Even more just ideas for books, texts, stories, blog posts, LinkedIn posts and articles.
And then nothing.
Nothing gets published, nothing is delivered. The work is not shipped.
It feels hard, the text is not good enough. I can’t follow trough. I feel blocked.
Meanwhile I have journals that I have written longhanded full from cover to cover.
So there is no block. It’s not real. Physically, I can write.
The block is a ghost.
It’s only a reflection of our fears, judgements and anxious thoughts of what others might think of us.
The block is trying to keep us safe. Doing so it’s also keeping us from participating to the world.
If we can see it, we can test if it’s real. We can stretch our hand and see if it goes through it.
Often it does.