On Saturday I drove out of the dry and windy desert, through fog and rain-soaked mountains, to a city of angels by the ocean. All this, so that I could do a Jiu Jitsu competition. I sign up for these things many months ahead of time, when I am still coming down from the high of some victory or just some general combative happiness. Then I kick myself for having done so, for now I must travel long ways for the sole purpose of terrifying myself by facing one or several opponents who would dearly love to beat me and, in fact, have paid for the privilege of attempting to do so.
If I have friends with me, we will drill and warm up together. But if I am alone, I just walk brisk circles and shake my arms out until it is time to go into the bullpen–the waiting area for impending matches. I weigh in. They check my gi sleeves and belt to make sure all is as it should be. By now I am rightly nervous. I am both looking and trying not to look to see which of these ladies I’m supposed to fight. Is it her? She’s got those war-braids and she seems way too calm. That’s not good for me. Oh goodness, I hope it’s not her. She looks like she’d eat me for breakfast.
Do they think I look like I’d eat them for breakfast? I wonder.
Time to forget about all that. Time to think about Gladys Aylward and Corrie Ten Boom. They endured unimaginable hardships. They were courageous and endured in the face of life-or-death situations. They both nearly died for their convictions. This is absolutely nothing compared to that. If I can’t do a good job facing this tiny-little challenge that I CHOSE, then how resilient will I be when some hardship is thrown my way that I did not choose? A hardship that actually matters?
So buck up and do your best. You’ve got no excuse.
Anyhow, I won my match.
I even got a takedown (sloppy single-leg for the win! Plus a pass and then mount. I was going for the gift wrap when the timer ran out). But it just cracks me up that I don’t stop being so nervous! It doesn’t stop being hard and scary. I think I handle the nerves WAY better now than I did on my first ever competition. So I won’t say nothing has changed. But I just have to accept the fact that it will never be all the way easy. I don’t really think it’s supposed to be. The good stuff rarely is.
It is just as true with my writing. Why am I shocked when the most poignant and significant scenes are the hardest to write? Why am I surprised that starting a manuscript afresh (or a complete re-write) is deeply intimidating and that I am afraid I won’t be able to do it? What if I can’t bring all these themes to fruition? What if the emotions fall flat? What if I fail the story that I so desperately want to tell?
But I’ve done this before and I’ve worked through these things before, and I already know about this. Why would it be easy now? Do I expect to close my eyes, clickety-clack the keys a few times, and then be presented with a perfect, shining manuscript? I should no more expect that than I should expect my opponent in a jiu jitsu match to just give up and let me win. That wouldn’t mean very much anyway. Hollow victory.
I have begun the re-write of book 3. I am in the bullpen, shaking out my nerves. Reminding myself that I have done this before and I can do it again, but Oh I want to do it well.
So I’m going to buck up, go in, and give it my all. No excuses.
J. L. Odom 