Everything starts somewhere, but those first phases – the nurturing the seed so that it sprouts, and then nurturing the vulnerable sprout so that it is rooted and strong – have always challenged me. I have no problem coming up with ideas, recognizing the seeds of some possible business venture, book, or career path, but it’s nurturing those seeds so that they sprout where I run up against a set of personal challenges.
In some respects I see these challenges as demons, haunting my efforts toward meaningful, personally satisfying action. But I realize their role is subtle, more complicated. The demons reflect my own internal neediness, for love, support, appreciation, recognition, and security. They are teachers as much as demons, because they are feeding on feelings such as doubt, confusion, and fear. In my inability, unwillingness, or stubborn refusal to address the fact of my insecurity and vulnerability, I am confronted, over and over again, by their phantoms.
Seeds knowingly come in multitudes, as if anticipating the problem of nurturance. Think of the 50 million sperm that seek the egg in the magic dance of conception. Their abundance would seem to confirm the natural world’s attitude toward starting anything: It’s not easy or, perhaps: Of multitudes, one.
This recognition doesn’t keep me from at times obsessive self-criticism regarding my failures to nurture so many promising possibilities – the real estate investment I didn’t make that would have paid off handsomely, the novel I didn’t write that would have been handbook to these times we’re in, the journalism career I didn’t follow because of some unreasonable opposition to the nature of newspaper storytelling. These are not exactly regrets, because the choice I made felt right at the time or (with regards to the novel) I simply didn’t have the discipline to carry the idea through. But I can also see that the demons played no small role: Fear, self-doubt, confusion crippling my ability to make a choice other than the one I made.
And they build on their successes. A fresh failure provides fresh ground for a new round of self-criticism, self-recrimination, or straight up self-flagellation. These are mental acts, done in total silence, automatic. The mind simply replays the script, reinforcing a belief that has, inside it, confidence only in failure. It is a false but powerful belief, a kind of mental demagogue.
What’s harder to fathom is that the failures are okay, essential to any creative act. It’s the most natural thing in the universe for seeds not to sprout. It’s a miracle when they do. The obstacles are, in fact, real, even when they are merely phantoms; that they are intangible has no bearing on their force.
Watching the demons work – which is easily enough done by listening to the ever-present, silent-to-the-world-but-endless stream of chattering going on inside my head – I gain some measure of power. I can acknowledge they exist. I can recognize them, be patient with them, be kind, as I would be to any child. I can watch them with a wider awareness. And by doing this it’s my hope I can more effectively get started, nurture one of the trillion-gazillion seeds within me. I can override the most damaging messages of my demons, but perhaps more importantly start to offer them what they need, which is merely the emotional nourishment that I need, but am afraid to ask others for or too absorbed in the demons’ chatter to provide myself.