Zip It.

My floor is a war zone. Scattered about me is scrapbook wreckage.

Sheets of colorful paper, corners chewed off by my cat, quotes meticulously cut from magazines, photographs, and ribbon have all but taken over my closet floor.

Propped up on my knees, after having spent the previous three hours procrastinating, I finally force myself to get it started.

But I can’t.

I’ve tried!

Everything’s there, it’s all in front of me, and I have the vision of what it’s supposed to be in my head, but when it comes time to put thoughts onto scrapbook paper, I falter. I hesitate. I can’t articulate.

It’s been two weeks since I sat with my new friend, who has been blessedly helping me with my magazine, and for those two weeks, my one task, to make a mock magazine, has proved way harder than I initially imagined.

At first, when it was suggested I have a copy to show people, I thought “totally makes sense, let’s do this.”

Yeah, wayyyyyy easier said then done, cause when push came to shove, I stuttered.

I spent evenings in avoidance, walking through all this content I had to make my magazine, and then I would walk right out.

I couldn’t figure out why it was so difficult for me to get started. This should be easy, right?

Wrong.

Apparently, it’s normal, what I’m feeling, which brings me some sort of comfort.

Deep down, I think I was overwhelmed because getting it started, beginning that process of making my dream physically a reality would therefore make it real and tangible, and yeah, that frightened me a little.

(still does)

So as I’m avoiding and procrastinating, I see this scrap paper poking out amidst the display of artifacts, beckoning out to me:

What doesn’t scare you isn’t worth the hunt.

Well this scares me, a lot. Which means it’s worth the hunt, right?

I feel like all this time, I’ve been waiting until I’m ready, but after all these years, I believe there’s no such thing as being ready, so, I might as well start now. So, fed up with leaving this dream of mine to literally collect dust on my closet floor (and equally as frustrated with having to tip toe around the wreckage whenever I needed to pick out an outfit), I decided to start, taking it one step at a time beginning with writing a simple editor’s note.

And guess what: I got it DONE. Granted, it took me two hours, two impossibly long hours, but when it was complete and I saw that one part of my ridiculously large puzzle finished and finalized, I felt goooooood.

Like, really good.

Now I’ve never been high before, but I’m guessing it kind of feels like this.

Going forward, I’m going to continue chasing that high, pushing onward and upward and if any negative self-talk creeps its way in, I’ll simply say…

Zip it.

“Zip it”, like a zipper. Get it?