Hi Friends,

Yesterday I was listening to Julia Louis-Dreyfus's new podcast Wiser Than Me, in which she talks with women older than her to receive some of their earned wisdom. On this particular episode, she was talking with Fran Lebowitz, a New York City icon and esteemed writer. In discussing her years-long writer’s block, Fran stated, simply, Writing is very hard. I find it very hard.

I find it very hard, too. At least writing in the way I believe I’m able to write, or have written before, which is something I rarely do these days.

I feel like I’ve been immersed in a years-long writer’s block as well. It started with the pandemic. Prior to March of 2020 I had been working feverishly on a new memoir about my journey with my sexuality. I was feeling very excited about the many chapters I’d written, had a terrific agent eager to represent the book, and together we were polishing and re-polishing my proposal. I was feeling optimistic.

And then, along with the world shutting down, so did my interest in that particular memoir. Almost overnight I had no desire to work on it anymore. None. And I couldn’t force it. One of the gifts of the pandemic, for many of us I believe, is that it encouraged us to look at who we are and what we want with more urgency, and more honesty. I had already been moving in the direction of more present, less past, and the pandemic rooted me even more in my aversion to resting in what was. The memoir I was working on lived in the past, and I felt little call to live there with it. I still love what I’ve written and may revisit it again, but for now it’s not where I want to be.

Every so often these days some writing comes through that feels good, like I’m able to express what it is I’m feeling inside. Mostly though, what I’m writing feels uninspired, along with the energy I’m putting into it. I’ve got probably twenty different essays started on this site, saved as drafts I may or may not ever return to.

Yesterday morning I began a new essay, now a draft, and spent a good deal of time staring blankly at my computer screen. To be clear, staring blankly at a computer screen is a regular part of the writing process for me, and for most writers I know. Yesterday, however, I was beginning to feel like I’d forgotten how to write, like whatever part of me that knew how to weave ideas and sentences together in a creative way had died.

I should say I was beginning to believe my mind as it was working to convince me I no longer knew how to write. That’s such an obvious lie — we don’t just forget how to write — and yet a fired up mind can make an insecure human believe almost anything about himself. I’ve been feeling very insecure about my writing.

As I got caught up in my mind, in the idea that I had lost my ability to write, I started to feel a deep disappointment, the kind that comes with questioning one’s worth. I had started to feel unworthy, which, honestly and gratefully, is not something I tend to feel deeply or often. I understand my worth has nothing to do with the quality of my writing, or the consistency of it, or anyone’s response to it. I understand my worth has nothing to do with anything other than the simple truth that I am worthy as I am, no matter what. I was born worthy and will die worthy, just as I am.

The same goes for you.

That’s really what I’m here to say today, that you are worthy, exactly as you are. Not because of your looks, or body, or talent, or intellect, or good job, or beautiful family, or activism, or personality, or sense of humor, or any single thing you appreciate about yourself. All of that is great if it adds more joy and meaning to your life, and it still has zero to do with your worth. All of your self-criticisms also have zero to do with your worth. You can’t make yourself unworthy by believing yourself to be so. You can, however, make yourself feel like s**t by believing yourself to be so.

Your worth is inherent. It’s that simple. Even though it can be difficult to accept.

Maybe close your eyes for a moment, put your hands over your heart, connect to the universe of love within you, and repeat these words: My worth is inherent. My worth is inherent. My worth is inherent.

If that feels false, try this: I am willing to accept that my worth is inherent. I am willing to accept that my worth is inherent. I am willing to accept that my worth is inherent.

I didn’t used to believe my worth was inherent. I thought I was only worthy when I accomplished something I deemed worthwhile. We’re conditioned to believe this is the case. Even yesterday, while mired in the false notion I had forgotten how to write, I let myself fall into the I’m not worthy trap. Not for that long though, because that is as ridiculous to me now as stating the earth is flat. It’s not, so why give any energy to the idea that it is?

What helped me to understand my inherent worth was to understand the inherent worth in others. Think about every baby being born on the planet today. Would you ever consider deeming some of them more or less worthy than others? It doesn’t make any sense. We’re all children of God and inherently worthy as such. Or children of Nature, if you don’t believe in God, and the same truth applies.

Why is this question of worth so important? For me, it impacts the way I show up for my life, and what I allow into it. When I connect to my worthiness, I tend to invite circumstances and relationships that reflect and honor this sense of worth. I move through the world with more confidence and openness and curiosity. Most importantly, I connect to myself differently. I’m less inclined to let the opinions of others take me down. The unkind ones will still hurt, of course, but they won’t uproot me from who I know myself to be: a worthy human being and so much more.

Let’s stop falling for the idea that our worth is predicated on how we look or what we’ve done or absolutely anything other than the simple fact that to be human is to be worthy. It’s a birthright. When we accept it as such, we’re likely to enhance our relationship to ourselves, to others, and to life in general. Isn’t that at least in part what we all want to do?

Perhaps, given how much I went on about the mediocrity of my writing these days, it feels odd to pitch my next workshop, called Writing Yourself, which is this Saturday, April 29th, but I’m gonna do it anyway. Writing Yourself is not focused on creative writing but on self-discovery. This will be the third Writing Yourself in as many months, because I believe so deeply in the power of writing as a tool for self-exploration. As powerful as the writing exercises (new ones each time) have proven to be, so too is the connection and sharing with other open-hearted souls. It’s truly a special way to spend part of your Saturday, and I hope you’ll join if you feel the call. Go HERE for details and registration.

Thanks for being here, friends. For reading or listening to my words and taking in my heart. I appreciate your presence, and your love.

Wishing you all so much love. And remember: you are worthy, just as you are. Always have been, always will be. So try not to waste time believing otherwise.

Big and Bigger Love,Scott

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