If I do not say it, it will not exist. That assumption is my silent partner - if I was a betting man, I would say I must be stuck in some early freudian phase, 'anal' or 'oral' - something like that. [thanks Tenor - have fun at the races]
If I think or plan something, my next step is always to tell someone about it. I have always envied those who gracefully and modestly keep everything to themselves until the perfect moment. Everything they do is layered in gloss.
Why am I compelled to tell?
On my way home from work today, I was hit by a revelation of vast proportions. I might have come to a decision; made a plan. I have been paralyzed for four years, my brain a petri dish just waiting for even the most microscopic creative spore.
I have figured it out.
It came to me in a moment, the perfect culmination of much of my varied and seemingly unrelated education, skills, and interests. There are so many times that I think I have stumbled on a lead, only to be met with a million reasons why it would never work. If there are no reasons to be found, some version of my broken neck will inevitably surface like a dead body.
So far this time, this has not happened. At this point, any barrier I have managed to throw at myself has been met by a - if you can believe it - SOLUTION.
Now I am breathless to tell anyone and everyone, to make it official, to trap it between my thumb and index finger. But I am going to resist this temptation because for some reason I have a feeling that this will be good for me. Even if only for a short time. Let's face it, the only gloss that suits me is what I put on my lips [Bobbi Brown].
Perhaps I am growing, learning to trust myself. Whatever it is, for now, it stays here.