On fear and groupthink

In a perverse turn of events, I haven’t been writing here because of fear. I have been afraid.

Afraid of being too personal.

Afraid of being laughed at.

Afraid of being ignored, censored, censured, passed up, considered unprofessional, too spiritual, too ‘religious’, too conservative.

Afraid that, in the writing of the personal I’ll be alienating the professional.

Much of this has happened because I eliminated a secondary and unnecessary asset, which was a business website, after I had my son. I had realised that the company was a waste of time and money, that it wasn’t doing anything anyway, that my entire direction had changed.

In the process, I began shedding skins. That’s where my book Liminal Woman came from. Becoming Mother was a process of such intensity (immensity, really), that it broke me into pieces before remaking a better version of me.

Along the way, I discovered a relationship with God.

Along the way, I lost the ability to meditate. (Actually, that’s a result of too-close exposure to people who shed covid jabs; more on that another time). Prayer was the only thing that restored it to me.

And along the way, I discovered a most useless fear derived from the anxiety of Groupthink.

I began to worry about basic survival in a way that had never bothered me before. This was partly because of a new reliance on my husband’s earning capacity that I’d never had to face, and partly because I couldn’t see my place in the world any more.

Nothing fit.

The old roles I played weren’t mine to play any more.

I became incapable of living something that had been a lie, and instead began to consider what it would mean to live my truth.

Except, I lost my sense of what that could be.

So, writing here stopped.

Instead, I began journalling and writing Morning Pages. I began a gratitude practise. I began getting cerebral instead of heartfelt. And when I recently reflected on my life, I realised that the greatest things I’ve experienced were all driven by a fearless heart.

It wasn’t until I began reading The Trap by David Icke, a man who has always lived his truth no matter what, that it dawned on me that actually I’d allowed myself to become trapped by Groupthink.

I had become so ensnared by the hidden dangers of social media like LinkedIn that I had started to live in a restricted mind-world. That world is one that says, only put into the world material that supports your career.

Well, fuck that for a joke.

I’m an artist, first and foremost. More to the point, I am human and humans live and die by creativity. Creativity is play, play is how we learn, play is the very essence of Art.

In the social construct, in this world that says career is everything, play and creativity and Art are verboten. This is why artificial intelligence, which simply remakes what past humans have created, is much vaunted.

I say ‘past humans’ intentionally. Art is created Now, so anything Past was created by a person who, Now, is different.

Therefore, I’m breaking the ice again.

Remembering who we are is one thing. Breaking the ice of the world’s clinical view of life is quite another.

With it, I have decided that I am willing to walk the path of Not Giving A Flying Fuck about what others think of me.

It recalls to me a time in which someone said to me that society can no longer handle – no longer wants – brutal honesty. That was said to me in the context of my company’s brand, that the branding no longer fit the world. That completely nonplussed me, because I couldn’t understand why anybody would dislike anything that wasn’t brutally honest.

Honesty is your truth, and your truth is your light, and light will prevail.

Therefore, I wish for you that you also will remember your courage.

Whatever you are holding back for fear of what others think, for fear of being dropped by an algorithm, for fear of not earning money: Release it into the world.

This realm requires courageous warriors.

The warriors it needs aren’t fighting with a sword, but with a pen, a brush, an instrument, a voice.

‘Fools said I, you do not know / Silence, like a cancer, grows.’ – Paul Simon

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