With the release of my first book earlier this year I was dreaming and living bigger than I imagined was possible. For several months the adrenalin rush energised and sustained me through bouts of panic. I discovered I wasn’t a coward, people received me and the book and…hey, this is fun!
Then a fresh wave of inadequacy dumped on me. Exhaustion set in. Scouting for prospective speaking engagements became the equivalent of a hike along Kokoda. Could I keep doing this? And for how long? I wasn’t getting any younger, so did I really want to push myself this hard?
This was alarming enough, but when it began to affect my longer term dreams, I knew I was in trouble. Will I be able to continue short term mission trips to Cambodia? Will I have the energy to go, one more time, to Finland? Will I ever visit the Pitjajinjara Lands and sit in a circle with its women? Will I ever finish the novel that’s been in my heart for nearly twenty years? Contemplating the last one brought me to my knees. And I’m still not on my feet, not really.
But the truth is I have come too far to go back. Like the Australian soldiers on the Kokoda Track, it’s down to one foot in front of the other, keep up and keep on, or lie down and die. The only shame is in giving up.
It's time to stop gasping for breath and put on a shark suit.