Creating

respect can cripple you.

i respect great writers. Chuck Palahniuk. Malcolm Gladwell. Mark Twain.

i respect great teachers and storytellers. Rob Bell. Garrison Keillor. My professors.

i respect those who create great songs. household names, friends, or anonymous. they are there bringing things crafted and purposed to this world.

through print, through movie, through podcast, daily their voices are felt.

i find lately, though, that my respect for these has kept my voice from being felt. why unfold myself onto the page, why divulge my thoughts and act upon inspiration, when someone else has already said what i came to say, and said it well?

yesterday i walked into a bookstore. a large one, here in NYC. thousands upon thousands of books. did any of these authors doubt that they had anything new to say? did they for a moment think that their book in-process would end up on the discount $3.99 pile, likely no more than the cost of the binding and the ink and the paper?

but there it was, the discount pile, actually several of them. someone's work clearly didn't make it to the finish line.

but does this negate their voice?

i am not sure if everyone fears anonymity, but i sure do. or did. it's one thing to be unknown when you haven't tried. it's quite another to have tried, very hard, and to still be anonymous.

if the above strikes you as cowardly, let me assure you that it is exactly that.

i am beginning to think that inspiration is not necessarily unique. many of us must be inspired by the same things. the genius of some of those i mentioned above is that they can take a common inspiration and craft its expression. they can give it a voice. and when they do, the rest of us cannot help but resonate with its truth.

i have resolved to shed this cowardice of respect that sometimes convinces me that it's all been said and done. because it is right. and it is also absurd that this would keep any of us from creating.