The disease of over-thinking

If you are reading this, then you know I have toiled and thought heavily for days on end about things that are completely fictional. You know how much I analyzed everything I do, everything I think about those things and certainly everything anyone, anywhere says about what I do. I live for scrutiny, and then, the scrutiny of the scrutiny.

This sort of round and round garbage ceases to develop any real skill or success in my life, but instead squelches and retards any growth I might incur.

For example, I had the opportunity to spend the weekend with my extraordinary husband in one of my favorite places, San Francisco. That place is magical for me- it gets my wheels turning. With that turning of wheels, I effectively cornered my poor husband, in a fancy restaurant over candles, about my book. I asked him an hours worth of questions about my plot, the characters, and the structure of writing in general. I was surprised and thrilled that he was generally happy to oblige my craziness. One thing that was particularly helpful and flattering, was his telling me that I'm over-thinking. I'm qualifying my plot and characters too much. I just need to trust my instincts about it.

Then today, in class, we did our portfolio review. We put up a selection of paintings we've done this semester and open them up to critique. It's pretty fun, I think. I love seeing everyone's work, and hearing their thoughts as well as my professors thoughts.

One of the pieces my professor had me show what one of our short paintings from earlier in the semester (pictured above). I thought perhaps she'd taken it out to show something lame about cast shadows, or something. I was surprised to find out she was trying to show how strong my first instincts are. This would be in contrast to the paintings where I toil and fuss and stress over the minutia of reality. She said I need to show the same confidence n my long paintings that I show in my short studies. Very cool.

I should also stop over-thinking things like my accessories. Or what so-an-so said in passing at the bus stop. I should stop thinking that is some sort of sign when my face breaks out, or when I get a funny feeling in my chest. I'm probably not dying, I'm just...over-thinking. Now THAT could kill me. (or at least kill my success.)