The only thing to do is try

Thank you, friends, for being here with me for another year.

Friends, we made it to another milestone! Chicken Scratch turns three this week, which hardly seems possible. How can something feel both ripe and green at the same time? I suppose it’s because no matter how many times I harvest a jumble of words or sort them into a collection of sharable ideas, I’m never going to outrun the uncertainties.

Sure, I’ve learned more than a little about my style, my quirks, and the discipline required to publish weekly essays. I’ve learned that there’s always someone who appears to be doing it better, faster, or more eloquently than I. I’ve learned that optimism can feel like the wrong theme when so many parts of the world are in turmoil. Each time I come to the page, I confront all of that anew. I may be more practiced than I was a few years ago, but that doesn’t eliminate the doubt. Every week, I wonder if this will be the time it all comes undone.

Part of me even questions the questions. Should I keep these fears to myself? Am I better served by presenting my own unified front, all confident, power-posed, and look at me go? Perhaps. But if that’s the case, I got on the wrong train three years ago. Because I’ve also learned that to show up here at all, I have to be true to myself.

Look, I know you didn’t come here for a front row view of my navel gazing, and I’m ready to get to the next part of this celebration. Just one more thought before we move on: For those who are incubating your next bold move, those trying to decide if you’ve done enough research, taken enough classes, saved enough money, or spent enough time practicing, the answer is no. No. No amount of preparation will truly prepare you for what’s to come. The only thing to do is try.

On 2.2.2022, I took a chance. I wrote a piece that I shared publicly the next day, launching a creative endeavor unlike anything I’d done before. I named the publication, in part, for a funny bird called Snowy who taught me what persistence looks like. I wrote for my mom and for her mother, women I affectionately called Tutu, intelligent, determined women who weren’t afraid to make their voices heard. I wrote for myself, because whether I wanted to admit it or not, it was my time to speak up.

In my first essay, I explored my mother’s lifetime of unmet expectations and how I came to understand that her disappointments weren’t about me. I shared it with just 38 people. Another 40 subscribed as a result.

Today, there are hundreds and hundreds more of you. You offer encouragement and insights. You indicate appreciation. You share my words with others, and you share others’ words with me. You support my ideas. You challenge my thinking. You lift me up. You call me friend. Being able to do the same in return is one of my greatest and most sincere gratitudes.

What started out as little more than an exit ramp for the freeway of thoughts racing through my head has become, because of you, a warm and welcoming community, a safe haven, a neighborhood of folks who are connected to hope. Thank you, all.

Happy Scratchiversary!

~Elizabeth

Photo by Jaime Windon

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For those who missed it or would like to read it again, you can find my inaugural Chicken Scratch post here: I’m Expecting.

Not long after that one, I shared No Trouble about our chicken friend Snowy, which is also a sweet Valentine’s Day message for those looking to celebrate an uncommon love.

Today, the greatest kind of awesome would be to know that you’ve read this and felt some spark of connection. Showing up as my own true self is going to happen no matter what, but your responses are the best way for me to know if I’m getting this right. And anyway, I love nothing more than to hear from you! What’s your next bold move? What are you learning about your own creative endeavors? Let’s talk about all of that, and more, in the comments.