We all have them.
We deny their presence.
We mute them like the television remote.
We dismiss their credibility like we do the boy who cries wolf.
But they don’t go away.
They break through the silence and open the locked door. They set up shop in our subconscious and guide us, though often unbeknownst to us.
At their best, they serve as our moral compass. At their worst, they amplify self doubt and are powerful enough to lead us close to and in some cases right into the grave.
These tiny voices are mighty. With every fear conquered we quiet the negative ones and empower the positive ones. This vociferous seesaw keeps us teetering between the person we know we are and the person we think we need to be. The latter grounded in the expectations of others, the former grounded in our own truth.
These voices are quieted when we stand in our truth, present and aware of our surroundings, our own voice drowns out any doubt and announces that we are nothing less than a stellar gift to this world.
Such joyful moments are bliss. Happiness is effusive, its power is the propulsion that makes us joy seekers.
In blissful times like that the nagging voices encouraging me accept mediocrity like “suck it up, Craven” or to accept defeat “it is what it is” are dead. In their wake is the melodious cacophony of life, beckoning me to dive in.