Of course, the wiser part of me knows this is a recipe for disaster (or at least disappointment). But sometimes the id screams like a toddler being forcibly removed from the toy aisle and the hubris of me insisting on doing things my way prevails.

But in saner moments, I realize that I simply need to catch the dreams and ideas that come to me, give ‘em some love, take a few action steps…and then release the trajectory of their manifestation to God.

My best friend recently gave me one of the most beautifully thoughtful gifts I’ve ever received: a very cool replica of an old school drive-in theater speaker. Her note said:

“To remind you that you are a screenwriter and filmmaker. Regardless of the fact that it may not look like what you thought it would.”

I was touched not only by her belief in my work, but how spot-on she was about the fact that our desires don’t always come to us in neat little packages designed by our imaginations.

Ever since I fell in love with screenwriting in college, I pictured that my films would one day end up with one of the big studios.  (Granted, this was when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and before everything was available on YouTube…but I digress…). My producing partner Curt Apduhan and I tried for years to get into the Hollywood club. Curt is an Emmy award-winning cinematographer, who has worked with a lot of famous people who are well-entrenched in the studio system. But even with his personal and professional connections, we always seemed to get thisclose with one of our scripts, and then…crickets.

Finally, we decided that it was time to stop wasting time courting approval and just make a movie on our own. Even if it wasn’t a full-length feature backed by millions of dollars and starring a household name, it was still tangible proof that we knew how to write and produce something screen-worthy.

So, we shot our first short film, “Anniversary” with an amazing cast of three in a friend’s home (whose living room was miraculously transformed by our set designer into a hotel suite). We were on a shoestring budget, but everyone involved gave so generously of their time and talent that we ended up with a beautiful film that was very well-received at several festivals in the U.K.

We may still make it to Hollywood one day. Or maybe not. But I will never forget the thought that came to me as I stood on set for the first time and watched the actors say my words:

“I don’t know if I could be any happier if this were being played out on a giant soundstage or a glamorous location. I love filmmaking, period. I just want to be in the game.”

And as of this writing, I still am. Another short film produced and screened at festivals last year, and one more in the works that will be expanded to a feature. At least that’s the plan.

(I know, I know…cue the “we plan, God laughs” jokes.)

But I’ve done my best to catch and cultivate the dreams that come to me. Now begins the continual process of prying my fingers off of the steering wheel.

Time to let the Divine do the driving.

But while all of the above events may be true, they’re still excuses. And if I championed them, I’d be creating an absurd rationale for why I’m not doing the one thing that makes me feel the most alive: putting words on a page.

So, why do we go silent on our life’s passions?

Sometimes it’s for a good reason, like the need for genuine introspection. Taking a brief step back from what we love so we can see it with fresh eyes and return to it with renewed zeal.

But all too often, that short break turns into a self-sabotaging sabbatical. Excuses are reframed as “reasons” why we can’t get back in the game.

It’s been too long.

I’m out of practice.

I’ve lost momentum.

I don’t even know where to start.

Those toxic rationales enable us to politely excuse ourselves from doing what feeds our souls in favor of the things that – while perhaps necessary – feed only our practical routines.

We all have to take care of business. And because we’re good, responsible grownups, we buckle down. The work gets done, the groceries get bought and the bills get paid. All the boxes checked.

Except the one that didn’t even make the list: the dormant desire that is never truly silent.

But it is stealthy.

You’ll think you’ve successfully buried – or simply forgotten – it. That is, until it chooses any number of ways to slyly remind you of its existence:

You see a book you could have easily written.

A canvas you could’ve painted circles around.

A dish you could’ve cooked WAY better than that stupid, screaming TV chef.

And the only difference between you and those artists and creators is that when life got noisy, they didn’t lie back quietly and allow it to drown out what they loved.

They turned up their own volume, ignored the cacophony of “shoulds” and “have-tos” and pushed their passions to the forefront.

You can do the same. So can I.

And once we do, we’ll find that our dreams are very forgiving.

Just like a close friend who slides off our radar, all it takes is one moment to reach out and reestablish that connection to our God-given desires. To remember why the love was there in the first place. And to forget how long we’ve been apart.

Let’s break the silence. It’s time.

You may not be redefining the world of dance like Martha did (my own musically-induced gyrations have prompted people to ask if they should call 911), but there is a bit of habitual dissatisfaction in all of us.

And I think it’s awesome.

But I didn’t always feel that way.

I spent a majority of the anxiety-and-self-doubt festival known as my 20s and 30s dreaming of the day when I’d finally hit a peak so high that nothing else could top it.

Everything would be in its proper place, and I’d be perfectly content from that point on. No more striving for goals that always seemed just out of reach.

No more grappling with the fear of what I’d do if I never achieved them.

Or what I’d do with the unease of responsibility if I did.

Back then, that sounded like bliss.

Now, it sounds boring.

I’m not saying it’s wrong to sit back and take pleasure in what you’ve achieved so far. Or to want a life that’s not rocked by constant upheaval.

But there is a big difference between enjoying the season you’re in, and trying to make it last forever.

I believe the inherent – and healthy – sense of discontent we all possess was put in us by a loving God who wants us to be as expansive and creative as He is.

Unfortunately, that natural desire to grow and explore is often suffocated by fears, frustrations and supposed obligations.

But it never goes away.

I know, because I tried unsuccessfully for decades to make it vanish.

I mindlessly collected degrees and certifications for a career that I told myself was practical, but was actually paralyzing.

I avoided bookstores and theaters because they showcased the stories I wasn’t telling.

I saw the success of others as proof that there was one less spot available for me in the world of writers who made a living at their craft.

But deep down, I knew what I was truly capable of.

What I would pursue with abandon if I put on the superhero cape we are all born with and flew like the skies were on fire.

Exciting? Absolutely.

But also terrifying.

Because when you surrender to the discontent, there are questions that demand answers:

What would you have to give up to get where you want to be?

Who might you have to give up?

What would you need to allow into your life…or kick out?

But if you’re willing to listen as your soul responds with honesty to the queries that come, you’ll be rewarded with a sense of passion and purpose that is your birthright.

This kind of unrest truly is blessed…if you allow it to be.

I remember my last night as a grade-schooler, unable to sleep as I pondered my upcoming first day on the big bad junior high campus. Instead of the same familiar pack of munchkins I’d been running with since kindergarten, I’d now be forced to meet an entire legion of new students.

And I was terrified.

In the midst of my angst, I actually had the thought, “I wish I could wake up famous tomorrow. Then everyone would already know and like me.”

I was absolutely convinced that if I were Brooke Shields (the gold standard of teen stardom at the time), I wouldn’t have to face the awkwardness of trying to fit in, saying something idiotic or just flat-out being disliked.

Thankfully, I outgrew the naïve notion that “recognition = adoration” long before the internet and social media took public scrutiny to a stratospheric level.

And while it’s tempting to complain about the TMZ-style world we live in today, there is a proverbial silver lining to the often-moronic tidal wave of reality show starlets, viral videos and vitriolic rants:

It’s proof that the gatekeepers are done for good.

And so is your excuse for remaining invisible.

You no longer have to genuflect in the presence of movie studios, radio stations or art galleries, begging them to anoint you as a legitimate artist.

But as the barriers that keep your work from being shared with the world dissolve, so do the walls that keep you shielded from criticism that ranges from the mildly disheartening (actual review for my first short film: “That’s 20 minutes of my life I’ll never get back.”) to aggressively hateful.

The fact is, if you’ve got something to offer the world, you’re going to have to deal with online trolls who are more than happy to announce that your novel was apparently written by an orangutan with a MacBook Pro and your abstract canvas looks like a sewage explosion.

And I’ve found the best way to handle the hate is to have empathy for those that dish it out.

No, I did not misspell “Twitter war.” I actually do mean empathy.

And here’s why.

These are people that have opted to spend their precious time and energy on a mission to seek and destroy. And their target isn’t something they despise, but rather something they desperately wish they had:

The courage to offer their gifts to the world, and to keep on doing it, whether the response is kudos or condemnation. 

Your book, film, blog or painting may not be their cup of tea. But the fact that they opt to attack – rather than simply ignore – your creation signals a human being burdened by regrets and hammered by creative Resistance.

Someone imprisoned by fear of failure, success, or both.

Simultaneously facing the dread of taking – or not taking – that first step toward a dream.

And in my book, living that way is suffering enough.

So, the next time snarky or scathing words are lobbed at you, consider the source.

Allow yourself a moment to be angry, annoyed or even amused.

Then let it go.

And give thanks.

Because you, too, could be hiding behind a screen name instead of making a name for yourself.

I used to say that all the time. Usually when I was failing miserably at something and wanted to deflect any suggestion that I should step up my game.

“I can’t write a book. I’m too busy. “
“I can’t create a website. Technology hates me.”
“How am I supposed to eat a salad when a perfectly good pan of brownies is in grave danger of going stale?”

I’m only human.

But while those three little words provided me with a handy-dandy hall pass for avoidance, it always felt wrong. Like I was using my status as a mere mortal as an excuse to not rise higher.  To achieve all that I knew I was capable of.

So, what’s wrong with declaring yourself to be human?

Nothing at all.

As long as you leave out the qualifier that will put the brakes on your potential greatness:

“Only”

I love the way John Mayer addresses the idea of wanting to go beyond our limits in his song “Bigger Than My Body.”

Someday I’ll fly
Someday I’ll soar
Someday I’ll be so damn much more
Cause I’m bigger than my body gives me credit for

We all dream of being so much more than what we appear to be. To amaze the world – or maybe just ourselves – with the strength, talent and innate bad-assery that has lain dormant for much too long.

So, what do you do to get beyond the often minimal “credit” your physical self says you’re due?

First off, remind it very politely who’s boss:

Your God-given soul.

The spirit that animates the earth suit you’re living in for the time being.  The divine spark that was set off the day you were born and has kept you going up until this very moment.

The part of you that knows you’re meant for more than what you’ve accepted as the status quo.

Secondly, do something.

Anything.

Right now.

One tiny step forward that will signal your intent to once and for all stop believing the bullsh*t story that you’re “only” human.

Write the first sentence of your novel.

Throw some color on a canvas.

Capture a moment in your sketch book.

Destroy your kitchen in pursuit of the perfect spaghetti sauce.

Sing. Loudly.

Lastly, try this mantra on for size:

I am contained by nothing and no one.

Those words came to me recently when I felt constrained by circumstances, both real and imagined. I wasn’t drinking my own koolaid when it came to living in Einstein Time, so I felt rushed and scattered.

Every time I’d reach for my work in progress, my phone would launch into an urgent symphony of beeps and pings.

The clock ticked out a constant reminder that in “X” minutes I was supposed to be somewhere else.

I could feel  my resentment choking off any and all creativity.

Why can’t the world just leave me alone so I can do what I want  – and need – to do?

Then I realized it wasn’t the world’s fault that I was stalling out.

It was mine.

So, I took a deep breath, and out came the aforementioned mantra that reminded that I can never be confined unless I allow myself to be.

Because I am bigger than my body.

So are you.

Prove it to yourself. Today.

Your greatness is waiting. And I for one can’t wait to see it unleashed.

I’m not saying competition doesn’t serve a purpose. Try having a Super Bowl where no one wins. Or a marketplace where there is only one brand of anything available. Sometimes we need competition in the world to keep things exciting and in balance.

But what about in your own life?

There has to be at least one person on your path that you must strive to outdo on a regular basis, right?

The co-worker who has everyone mesmerized by his Ivy League education while you’re still plugging away at your undergraduate degree.

Your sibling who founded a Fortune 500 company and bought your parents a condo in Palm Beach.

The frenemy who  prances into the gym baring her six pack abs…while munching happily on a donut.

So, who exactly is your biggest competition? The one that you should be trying to best at every turn?

Look in the mirror.

But self-competition is not a license to turn your rivalrous tendencies inward and beat yourself to a pulp with them. It’s simply an opportunity to let go of caring so much about what everyone else is doing, and figure out what really matters to you (not Donut Abs or Mr. Harvard).

Author  Jeff Goins offers a brilliant piece of advice when it comes to self-evaluation:  “Listen to your ache.” This doesn’t mean to berate yourself because you aren’t as far along as someone else.  Rather, it involves noticing whether you feel an inner pang when you see that person succeeding at something that you know in your soul that you, too, can achieve.

The physical and/or emotional signals may be mild or monumental. But they shouldn’t be ignored.

Here’s why.

My good friend Jennifer Blanchard is a bestselling author of over eight books (fiction and non-fiction), and counting.  I am hugely proud of her, and have always been inspired by both her talent and her tenacity.

But I remember one day earlier this year when I opened my email to see the announcement for the release of her latest eBook. I felt the warm, familiar “good for her” feeling rise in my heart. But right along with my sincere kudos, I felt something else.

A sinking in my stomach, and a voice that whispered, “Ugh. Why aren’t you doing that, too?”

My “authorship ache” was calling to me loud and clear.

In the past I would’ve ignored it. Trotted out my litany of excuses ranging from lack of time to a plethora of paranoia over the oh-so-scary world of self-publishing.

All of my rationale was complete bullsh*t. And because I knew that deep down, the cost of ignoring my ache was very high.

Anxiety. Panic. Stress. Sadness.

But this time, I’d had enough.

I started writing down every single idea I could think of for eBook topics. Some were horrible, others pretty damn good. I had no idea where I was going with any of them, but the point was – for once – I was going to go somewhere.

Not long after that, my aforementioned crazy-prolific friend invited me to attend her online “Write and Publish Your eBook in 10 Days” workshop.

And before I could talk myself out of it, I thanked her profusely and said, “Count me in!”

I’d love to tell you I was completely Zen from that moment on. Never once wondering how I was going to complete the book, or if it would suck beyond all measure.

That was absolutely not the case.  Self-doubt was my constant companion until the day I hit the “publish” button.

But so was an odd sense of peace.

Because even if I never sold one copy, it would’ve been worth it to finally go through the process I’d been dreading for years. To be rid of that that nagging feeling that I was dodging a piece of my destiny.

So, now it’s your turn.

If you have an ache, here’s the bad news.

It will never, ever, ever (did I say ever?) go away.

Unless…

You listen to it, and give it the attention you’d lavish on a child (or cherished pet) that was desperate for your love.

The pain will not merely dissolve. It will morph into something that every one of us craves, whether we admit it or not:

A feeling of accomplishment.

That moment of “I f—ing did it”  that can never be taken from you.

So, stop telling yourself, “The world doesn’t need my (book/film/poem/banana pancake recipe).” It’s not about whether the entire planet needs it. It’s the fact that SOMEONE on this spinning blue orb does.

How dare you hold it back from them?

Heeding the call of your ache is one instance where it’s not a numbers game.  Impact is what matters.

All it takes is one person (or a handful of people) to connect with what you do, and the repercussions can be beautifully staggering.  Your fingerprints will be forever on this generation, and on those beyond it.

But only if you keep your focus solely on your biggest competition.

Run your own race. It’s the only one you were ever meant to win.

But the fact is, it’s hard to improve your writing when you aren’t actually doing it.

So, the other thing I’m always looking for are surefire tips on how to get my ass moving when everything but the keyboard is calling for my attention.

And thanks to blogger Ali Luke’s wise words, I have found a method that works for me every time I use it.

It’s hugely scientific. You may want to take notes.

Ready?  Here goes…

Open the Damn Document (ODD).

It’s so deceptively simple that it’s tempting to just blow it off. Oh, right. Opening the document is going to magically make the piece write itself.

Unfortunately, that isn’t the case. But the tiny step of putting yourself – literally – within arm’s length of the page makes it infinitely more likely that you’ll get down to business.

And yes, this works when your project is overwhelming. Especially when it’s overwhelming. Because it’s much easier to stomach the thought of merely opening a file than it is to obligate yourself to War and Peace-level output.

I recently had to put this technique into major practice when I wrote and published my first eBook: Gratitude Adjustment: 5 Simple Shifts To Refresh Your Perspective and Ignite Your Life. Even though it was planned to be a very short book, I was still freaked out by the possibility of…well, everything.

You know nothing about this kind of format. What makes you think you can put out a book on Kindle all by yourself? You are such a techno-idiot, you will probably single-handedly blow up Amazon when you hit the ‘publish’ button. And why do you think anyone cares about your take on gratitude? I’m pretty sure the Dalai Oprah has that one covered.

So – being the wildly enlightened person that I am –  I listened slavishly to the aforementioned bullsh*t and proceeded to procrastinate like a demon.

Oh my God…there’s a science project growing in the toilet. I’d better clean it up immediately or else the dogs might drink the water and die.

Uh, oh. We’re out of vanilla extract. And chocolate chips. I haven’t baked since MTV actually played music videos, but suddenly I’m feeling a Tollhouse cookie deficiency. Hey, it’s a blood sugar issue. It’ll just take me ten minutes to run to the store.

But one sparkling toilet and three trays of baked goods later, I was still firmly rooted in my authorship avoidance.

So, it was time to engage in some ODD behavior.

I went to my laptop and opened the page of notes I’d started for the book. The urge to get up and clean something or have a Betty Crocker relapse was still there. But it wasn’t nearly as strong as before.

Come on, you’ve got your butt in the chair and the page in front of you. Just write a few words. Then you’re free to keep your hot date with the vacuum cleaner.

So, I jotted a few words. Which turned into a few paragraphs. And one hour later, the Hoover was still sitting forlornly in the corner while my book took on a life of its own.

Even if you’re not a writer, the ODD principle is still one you can apply to your own pursuits.

Want to become a great chef? Don’t freak yourself out by trying to figure out how you’re going to afford living in Paris while you train at Le Cordon Bleu.  Buy a cookbook and play with a recipe or two.

Tired of living like a human beanbag chair? Skip buying $1500 worth of clothing racks…um, I mean exercise equipment…and start with a walk around the block.

Goethe was on to this concept well over 150 years ago when he wrote, “Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.”

Just choose one step. Keep it simple. Then keep it up.

You’ll be amazed where you’ll go from there.

Yes, those are actual daily goals.

And believe it or not, they can lead you to exercising for 30 minutes a day.  Reading over 100 books a year.  Or writing multiple books of your own, one after the other.

I’m talking about the concept of “mini habits.” And as ridiculous as it sounds, they actually do work.

Like a lot of us, Stephen Guise, the author of Mini Habits: Smaller Habits, Bigger Results, had big goals.  To get in great shape.  To be well read instead of well-Netflixed.  To be an author.

But every time he’d embark on a workout program, sit down at the computer or even think of tackling a growing pile of unread books, intimidation would kick in. Then fear.  Then ultimately, inertia would win again.

Enter the birth of the mini habit.

The author does a much better job than I can of explaining the science behind the workings of the human mind that keep us stuck. But basically, whenever we try to  introduce a new habit, it’s very often like shaking the Cheeto dust off your t-shirt and going straight for the Iron Man Triathlon sign up.

It’s too much, too soon.

You’re going to fail, and you know it. So, back to the comfort of nuclear orange crap food and the couch.

But it is entirely doable to go from sedentary splendor to doing one pushup. Or two jumping jacks.  The point is to choose something so ridiculously small that you simply cannot fail.  And once your brain gets a taste of the success of completing a goal – even a microscopic one – the resistance is lowered, and you have started to break down the barriers to achieving larger things.

For example, yoga. I have been wanting to practice more regularly for years now.  But of course, my perfectionist genes kick in the second I pull out my mat.  If can’t do an hour of sweat soaked Ashtanga-style brilliance – complete with  at least 20 pretzel-legged poses – then  forget it.  The mat is relinquished to the dog for his afternoon chewie-and-snooze fest.

Sugar Ray says, “Namaste.”

But taking the mini habit approach, I can tell myself, “Just do one pose. Pick one, hold it for a few seconds, and you’re done.  Voila!  You have officially practiced for the day.”  Nine times out of ten, I will do another pose.  Then another.  And then I’ll get tired of trying to make up my own routine, and will pop in the 20 minute yoga DVD I’d been using as a drink coaster.

I’m not trying to encourage you to consistently do the least you can get away with. But when you’re mired in the proverbial quicksand of doing absolutely nothing, then even the most minute effort is monumental.

Think of one thing you want to get started on. Eating healthier?  Add one piece of fruit or a veggie a day to the aforementioned Cheeto Diet.  Writing on the regular?  Don’t aim for “War and Peace” when a paragraph will do.

You get the idea.

So, get going.

You’ll be amazed at how quickly miniscule movements will become a mighty force in your life.

The correct response to all of the aforementioned diversions would have been to barricade myself in a closet, let hubby handle both the potty-challenged puppy and chatty houseguests, and get at least an hour of writing done.

But instead – like any good procrastinator – I dutifully responded to each and every distraction until the days vaporized.  One after the other.

And I felt like crap.

But rationalization is also a specialty of mine. So, I told myself that I was in the throes of writer’s block. And if I can’t write, then why not do something else productive? Like maybe reading about the writing I was supposed to be doing.

So, I grabbed my copy of “The War of Art” by Steven Pressfield, and opened it right up to this:

“It’s not the writing part that’s hard. What’s hard is sitting down to write. What keeps us from sitting down is Resistance.”

I don’t have writer’s block at all. I have “sitter’s block.” And the only way I can resist Resistance is to do what I say twenty times a day to my two beloved dogs:

Sit.

Stay.

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Peggy Sue                                                                                                      Sugar Ray (aka, “the new kid”)