Blank Pages

There’s nothing quite so intimidating as a blank page, or a blank canvas, or even rock bottom. Why? Because every move made on these blank arenas define you, and you can be defined beautifully or as something unworthy to be crumbled up and unceremoniously tossed aside. So often people choose to leave it blank out of fear, worry that they won’t measure up to whatever they or others have decided is their worth.

Fear is a loathsome thing, it robs us of too much life, too much living. Are we to be slaves to fear for life? Is there a point when we look past the fear to see that it’s robbing us? Is that what wisdom is, wisdom from a life spattered with fear, or just life lived?

I look at the blank and unfinished pages of my life and wonder why I never finished them and wonder if it’s too late to finish them now. I’d like to think that there’s never a point when one can’t pick up the pieces and complete those blank things to redefine who we are, as long as that’s not the end.

One word at a time, one stroke of the brush, not to be afraid that the finished concept can’t compete with your expectations of yourself, or your hopes, it’s not a competition. (well unless you’re trying to get published then I suppose that yes, it is a competition, but let’s not focus on that now shall we?) That’s how I want to live this life, word by word, stroke by stroke, step by step, and appreciate each and every one of them for what they are and not what they should be. Acceptance and enjoyment are the keys to filling out a blank page.

Yes, these are words to me, reminders that life is too short to waste it in fear, and maybe they're words others need to hear too.