Even after all those years, it was still waiting for me at the back of the hallway cupboard. Dusty and a bit tattered, it felt like discovering a precious relic from days of yore.

I’d like to say there was dust in my eyes as I pulled it out from underneath old picture books and school annuals, but whom kidding? Seeing my baby book, only days after my dad had passed, felt momentous.

Instinctually, I flipped it open to the center pages where there were pockets stuffed with loose papers, school photos, and newspaper clippings. Pawing through the aged paper, it smelled dusty and crinkled under my fingers.

Then I felt it. That aged construction paper from my kindergarten classroom. It was a story I wrote about a sad duck that was all alone skating on a pond, waiting for a friend to keep him company.

Roll your eyes at me if you must, but it’s childhood artifacts like this that make me think about how my creative process has changed.

I used to be so willing to make mistakes, write stories I wanted to tell, and boldly share it with others without shame. I wasn’t hung up on whether I spelled everything correctly, or had a fully developed plot. I didn’t care if the duck was blue, or if there were only four pages.

It was the story I wanted to tell, and it didn’t matter what other’s thought of it.

Nowadays there are times when I stare at my computer screen, paralyzed with fear. What do I have that’s worth saying? Will this offend someone? Hasn’t this already been said, by someone more famous, who’s better at writing?

The short answer: Yes, and no.

We all have something that’s worth saying, but not everything that comes out of our brains is gold. Learning to make that distinction is worth the effort.

What we say and do will probably offend someone at some point. We don’t need to fear it. That’s just part of having opinions and being human.

And lastly, yes. There’s very little out there that’s truly original any more, but that’s irrelevant. Originality doesn’t always have to look like creating a new tree. It can mean that we add our own unique leaf to a branch.

I think if five year old me was here, watching as I stared at a blank computer screen, she’d think I was crazy. Partially because she wouldn’t know what a computer was, but mostly because she allowed herself so much more freedom that I do any more. She was happy to be herself.

I imagine her looking up at me in disbelief. Exhausted by my ineptitude to move past self doubt. Putting her hands on her hips she’d say, “Just write what you want and move on already! Member that poster hanging in the bathroom? It says, Do your best and flush the rest. So just do that.”

Whether we allow the opinions of others to override our intuition, wrestle with debilitating self doubt, or fear how much it will hurt when we fail, it’s time we invite our inner child back to the table. She’s wiser than we know and I can guarantee her methods for tapping into our creativity are way more fun than worrying about all those voices in our heads.

And don’t worry about the sad blue duck. He didn’t remain friendless. He took a chance and befriended a new duck on the pond. Together they skated and laughed, free to be themselves without fear of judgement or rejection.

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