Smock Blogs

Feeling good after sleeping in, blowing off the morning’s writing, reducing the daily workout to its bare minimum, and telling myself that I needed the rest, clearly, because why else would I wake up so much later than planned?

There’s a place for that, where pulling the covers back up and giving myself the grace to be something like lazy for a beat is for my own good.

Where that’s less helpful is when that beat becomes hours, days, weeks of idling somewhere comfortable, because while that feels confining and limiting, it’s what I know. And what’s outside those oft-padded walls is something else.

It’s that unknown that keeps me here, that fear of rejection, of finding failure at a thing I know my soul needs to not shrivel like so much paper just a little too close to the candle.

I told myself that growth comes from recovery, that after the sprint comes the respite, and that this is A Good Thing. Except I’m having a hard time remembering the last time I ran toward something, content as I am to stay here, under the covers, where it’s safe.