Doubt
Thunder? The clouds in the sky indicate it’s a possibility. I turn off the fan to listen. The absence of kittens is telling, too. The sound sent them to their favorite hiding places before I could register anything at all. Coffee half consumed, brain wrapped entirely around the creative task in front of me, I consider the rumble at least two whole minutes after it has passed. Not entirely. While I had been copying and pasting and reviewing edits, the question of the sound filtered slowly into my consciousness. I contemplated the impact of self-doubt. Now that I am so close to becoming the creative dragonfly that I’ve always dreamed of being, I quiver, hesitate, and backtrack. Time to find a job. Feed my life into the dollar-making machine.
It is self-doubt clothed as practicality. Mortified by the costs of perfumery materials and medical expenses, paralyzed by ISBN numbers, struggling to draw a flower, covered in kittens, I think, “Lady, you gotta get a job.” I turn the fan off to listen for thunder. The wind blows the blades of the fan around, the curtains dance, wind chimes tinkle. No thunder, but after a few minutes, I hear sirens wailing in the distance. Not a kitten in sight.
Then I consider another possibility. Tomorrow is trash day. Early in the morning, the day before trash day, some neighbors will roll their cans out before they go to work. This way, they may come home late and go to bed without worrying about the detritus left by their existence. Thunder? Or garbage cans rumbling? This is the question I face about my creative work. It’s the suburban representation of self-doubt. Is this awe-inspiring beauty shaking the heavens, or smelly rubbish rumbling down driveways on plastic wheels?
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