I set a goal this weekend that from the moment I set it, I knew I was in trouble of not being able to reach it. I wanted to finish this scene by scene outline of my book, and I did work on it! I put in several hours today, in fact. But, it’s not done yet. It still needs work. There’s still plot points, characters, and more that I have to figure out.
BUT…and this is a big butt…I don’t feel like a failure. It’s different this time. I feel like what I’m doing is finally, FINALLY the work. The real work. The work that gets me across finish lines. And, I haven’t let me anxiety and fear stop me from doing the work that much. I was determined to work today, and I’m absolutely looking forward to doing the work tomorrow and the next day. And, I really do mean that. I’m revolved. This shit is getting done. I don’t worry so much about not finishing it this weekend—though that would have been nice—because I’m not worried about NEVER finishing it.
I still have work to do, for sure, on setting myself goals and reaching them. But fuck…I can do it.
Tomorrow, it’s 3 pages, plus trying to finish the outline. Outline might take me all week. We’ll see. I don’t think so, though. I think two more days, maybe, putting in some hours on it. The pieces are all starting to fall into place the more I work on it. THAT’S a very satisfying feeling. My work sessions have been productive, without fail. I solve problems every time. Things become more clear. I have a very definite sense of progress.
It’s different.
I feel more level-headed. More focused. Everything is clearer. I’m starting to conquer.
One last thought: my therapist asked me today what does it mean for me when I do fail. Why is that so scary? It’s something I still need to think on.
Time now for sleep. Night.