Oh My Dear, Who’s Ever Ready?

I tore this quote from the back of a playbill a few years ago, and taped it to my fridge.

The play I’m in, there’s a song about waiting: waiting for marriage, for children, for your husband to come home, and eventually for death. The character pleads with us, with her husband, with herself: How long do I have to wait?

The ideas I have for my future are not unheard of or unrealistic; I’ve just been telling them to wait for so long that they feel out of reach. If you’re not moving toward them, your dreams will always feel that way.

I’ve been thinking this morning about worthiness: Who would want to hire me? What do I have to offer? Why would someone pay me instead of someone with more experience?

And, as romance and finance are never far from one another, I’ve been thinking about replacing some of those words with the same sentiment: Who would want to date me? What do I have to offer? Why would someone date me instead of someone who has their shit together?

The theme of worthiness is the undercurrent for both places of lack in my life. Or, more accurately, both places of unrealized dreams.

I do know intellectually, and often in my soul, that what I have to offer is not only magnificent, but unique. It’s about showing that to the world (and myself) in a way that I can support – in a way that I haven’t been ready to support or stand behind.

But, my dears, Who’s ever ready, indeed?

There has been a lot of waiting in my life, too. Waiting for me to get better, to get healthy, to get stable, to get grounded, to get organized, to get … “approvable.”

And mostly, that approval is internal. Waiting for my critic to shut the hell up long enough to see the beauty and the awe (that we all have, by the way).

Why haven’t I ever submitted an essay to a publication? I’m scared I’m not good enough (aka unworthy). Why have I never applied for an English professorship? I’m scared I don’t know enough (aka unworthy). Why do I … well, why do I remain single despite my awesomeness? I’m scared: my “picker” is broken, I can’t handle heartbreak again, I’m too gun-shy to really try. Aka, unworthy of letting myself try.

These are not easy admissions, but they’re also not the all of me, yet they’re part of the truth of me.

You can’t wait for someone else to knight you “worthy.” To pour magic bravery potion on you that enables you to write something you feel proud of and submit it. Or for someone else to see a potential in you that you’re terrified yourself of seeing.

You have to see it for yourself, and you have to make decisions from that place.

I’ve read enough Brene Brown over these few years to know, a) we all go through this in one form or another, and b) that there is a way out: It’s through.

It’s the small steps we (I) decide to take. Why didn’t I ever apply to teach English? Doesn’t matter – can you do it now? Why haven’t I ever coalesced my ideas for children’s workshops? Doesn’t matter – do you believe in yourself enough now to try?

I will not wait until I’m ready, because that’s an illusion. We (well, many of us?) are going to question our worth now and then, but it doesn’t have to hold us back from taking action anyway. Readiness is an illusion, just like perfection. Because, surely, that’s what I’m meaning, isn’t it? When I’m finally good enough to try, to be original, to be seen, to be loved, then I can masterfully get on with my business of being awesome?

That’s really not the way it works.

You take the steps, and hope the rest of you catches up. You overreach yourself, and yes there’s a moment of will you make it or not, but if you’re not reaching, you’re waiting. And the next step will never ever get closer, no matter how long you do.