Risk

Nerves like hot wires.  My heart smells impending rejection. Pensive, I lie awake contemplating the risk I am about to take. Bittersweet anticipation swirls throughout my body as I picture letting ten, nearly complete, strangers a glimpse into my soul. Eight short hours to pass until my poem, wrought with my heart's deepest thoughts, awaits the critique of my professor and classmates. Although the critic I fear most is in my head, poisoning the little hope I have. Words flail against my innermost, unguarded thoughts. Hoping for the honest critique of my fellow comrades, I want to quiet his voice for good.

Deep reflections unconsciously embedded in the recesses of my soul sprout into daylight.  Threat to this newly formed life constitutes more than correcting syntax and grammar; The real threat: the critic’s voice propelling fear as I write honest details, breaching my level of comfortable vulnerability. Vague and abstract thoughts build a barrier of ambiguity, impervious to my insecurity.  Another voice comes through loud and clear sharing truth that compels to risk again: A good writer is specific, detailing concrete images and experiences scaling all five senses. Then these words resounded within the walls of my mind:

"Playing it safe may keep you from scrapes and bruises, but never gets you anywhere. To accomplish great things, one must risk every last drop of confidence for the holy cause. Success is born out of risk. If you fail, life is not over. You get up and keep going. And, pray of course that God will guard you against unnecessary suffering."

Surprising passion erupt in me as I discover the depth of untapped ambitions for writing. A summary of the experience I describe as the most enjoyable pain I've ever experienced. Sacrificing typical pleasures, my daily focus narrow to five simple tasks: Sleep. Eat. Class. Work. Write. ...Do over.