This post is a little personal, so be warned.   It’s also a little embarrassing.  I found myself a bit cranky this week and I wasn’t sure why. Then I was reading something that had to do with patience, which got me thinking, leading to an “aha” moment.  I suddenly had a good sense of what was getting under my skin.  My own ego!  I share my story with you in the hope that some of you can relate!

You see, there’s an online journal I like that features personal essays (they were kind enough to publish something I’d written years ago).  It had shut down for a while, but recently announced that it was back and was featuring an essay contest.  I was happy to hear of its revival, so I thought maybe I’d submit something, my entry fee and essay being a good show of support.  I’d been mulling around ideas for a topic, but nothing was coming.  Then one night, of course at 2 am, I had a few thoughts.  They were swirling around my brain keeping me from going back to sleep, so I got up to write them down, thinking I would slip back into bed a free woman.  Well, I started to write, and before I knew it, it was 5 am and I’d written an entire piece.  The words just came out of me and I was truly in that awesome state they call “flow.”  It was a total surprise!

A few days later I got up the courage to read what I’d written to see if it made any sense.  I actually was pleased that it did, and, in fact, it expressed something really important and powerful for me. It was about an experience related to my work that I felt strongly about, but hadn’t really put words to until then.  I knew the essay needed a lot of editing, but it was something I felt good about having written.  The topic was not really a great match for the contest, being so much about my work, but it was complete and would serve the purpose of showing support well enough.  Thanks to my brother, a great editor, I finished it, formatted it as requested, and along with my paypal payment, hit “Send.”

Then the month went by and I’d pretty much forgotten about it, except for telling a few people about my midnight writing surprise and feeling good about entering.  When my husband and friends offered the compliment that I might be a finalist, I really downplayed it.  That was not why I entered, I told them, which was true.  The topic and tone of the essay was not the right fit for the journal, I explained, which was also very true. It did mean a lot to me, though, that they thought I could be a finalist. And that was enough for me.

Or so I thought.

Enter the cranky mood.  The proposed deadline for announcing the finalists was approaching, “by May1st,” it said. My husband was sweet enough to ask a few times if I’d heard anything.  I checked the website, nothing yet.  They still had a few days and I kept telling myself it was ridiculous to even think about it.  But then I was irritable and annoyed at little things.  I was generally in a bit of a funk.  What was up with me, I wondered?  Then the “aha” moment about patience struck.  I was annoyed that they had kept us waiting in announcing the finalists, yes.  But even more so, I was annoyed and impatient with myself, as deep down I had a glimmer of hope that maybe I could be one of them.  The little voice inside my heart would have been thrilled to have had my essay be chosen, but I was also too embarrassed to admit it. This inner conflict around my pride and my vulnerability was causing me tension and shame.

Okay, I thought, this is an opportunity for growth (maybe I didn’t say exactly that to myself).  I need to be okay with being vulnerable by putting myself out there.  How many other people do I know who take risks and get hurt?  I admire them. How many people do I encourage and support to accept a challenge to be vulnerable?  It’s ok to want to be a winner!  It’s ok to want to have something that means a lot to me be validated!  It does not take away from the process of doing it or the joy I had in completing it. In fact it added to it.

So now, I’m living my lesson on patience.  Patience doesn’t mean liking the fact that you have to wait, it means tolerating it.  Even maybe learning from it. For me, that means opening up to allow myself to feel excited about the possibility I COULD be a finalist, even if it’s improbable.  I haven’t checked the website again.  Maybe I’ll be ready soon enough.  But for now,  I’m patting myself on the back for being the “writer in the arena.”  Reminding myself of Roosevelt’s words that “it’s not the critic who counts.”  Even the inner critic.