Blocked.

I am not scared by deadlines. 

Decades spent as a principal flutist honed my ability to be fully prepared right on time. I know how to arrive at "peak performance" precisely when needed — not 5 minutes after the concert starts, no “extensions” on the due date, no “it’ll be ready tomorrow, I promise!” 

(I’ve also learned how to be efficient and not to over-prepare.)

To be clear, just because I know how to do this doesn't mean I never missed the mark. And — I rarely missed the mark.

I know how to work backwards from a deadline, how to estimate how much time a project needs, how to protect time in my calendar to do the work — and then how to buckle down and get to work.

And every so often I just can’t make myself do it. For example, right now.

I’ve been trying to write my remarks for the BSO’s annual retirement party. And I JUST CAN’T. Ugh.

I feel totally blocked. (I know this is temporary but it sure feels permanent.)

Up to now I’ve been using all the classic procrastination tricks: Finding something more “urgent” to tempt me away from my writing. Telling myself that I have plenty of time, while watching the days glide by on the calendar. Waiting and hoping inspiration will strike (rather than going out and doing what it takes to GET inspired.)

So, dear reader, something's gotta change.

And here's how that's going to happen:

Just get going. 

Any small step is valuable, even the tiniest. I just Googled “how to write retirement remarks.” (I’m not joking.)

Sh**ty first drafts. 

Writer Anne Lamott says “Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start somewhere. Start by getting something — anything — down on paper.”  My goal is not to write retirement remarks, it’s to make a truly sh**ty first draft. 

Take responsibility for my own inspiration. 

Inspiration doesn’t get delivered by the “inspiration stork.” I’ve got to be intentional about seeking it. I’m not necessarily going to go read a bunch of retirement remarks (see next item on this list), but I am going to seek out stories and people that inspire me.

To compare is to despair. 

Sometimes I feel intimidated when I think about fantastic remarks other retiring colleagues have given over the years. They’ve often been funny, sometimes profound. My job is to quit worrying about whether mine will measure up. It’s okay to use those remarks for inspiration, but not for comparison. Mine will be mine. 

Befriend the inner critic. 

I'm committed to noticing when that harsh inner voice pipes up (we all have one.) I'll thank it for trying to keep me safe, and then remind it that I’ve got this. (Nobody ever died from delivering sub par retirement remarks.)

Don’t go it alone. 

I’m going to send my sh**ty first draft to a few trusted people who will accurately reflect what they see. Maybe they’ll boost me up, likely they’ll point out new ways of looking at it — no matter what, I trust them to give me perspective on my thinking.

Believe Maya Angelou. 

She said, “I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”  This is an invitation to get out of my head and into my heart. (Vulnerable and important.)

Connect. 

Connecting with the people in the room (in this case, my BSO colleagues) is really the only point of all of this. So as I write I will keep asking myself, “Am I trying to connect, or to prove?” 

And with that, I’m setting aside this blog post and diving in to that very, very sh**ty draft I’ve got going. Wish me luck!

PS — Visit here for tools to work with and befriend your own inner critic.