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You’ve been given a gift. A spirit to explore. A mind to entertain a world where you shape it in some way that, once touched, can never return to its former, lesser state. Whatever that gift is, it’s uniquely yours. It whispers and nudges and proposes and fantasizes. Others may have this same gift.

But no one will express it the way that you do.

And no one will express it the way that you do not.

So the world will move on if you show up shy. Never knowing the difference. And neither will you. Not in the way of knowing that means intellectual understanding. But you will know it in a truer way. Which is often a more horrifying existence than the worst failed outcome you are afraid of experiencing. This knowing is the kind that you feel. The kind without words that you grasp to name with terms that come close but don’t capture the depth of it.

You cannot escape it. You can only bury it. And being buried alive is a terror I dare even to write. Which is what you are doing to yourself when you deny your gift. Which transforms it into a curse. There is only one incantation that I’m familiar with that can release you or anyone from this self-fulfilling punishment.

Hint: It looks an awful lot like doing the damn thing.


A little more about Erik Eustice...


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