The Power of Doubt

 “If you hear a voice within you say you cannot paint, then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced.” ― Vincent Willem van Gogh 

Every morning when I sit down to write, two things greet me - a blinking cursor on a blank page and my dear friend, doubt. I often stare at that blinking cursor wondering what I’ll write about, and if its even worth the time and effort to write. I chide myself that it is a silly task. That I am an imposter. That I don’t have anything meaningful to say. Few people will ever read my words and the ones who do have most likely done so out of pity (to my pity readers, I really appreciate your pity reads, keep doing it please). The doubts are demotivating. They tell me to stop writing. 

Here’s a dramatization of my daily battle with doubt that I wrote in a journal:

It’s my 37th birthday. I’m sitting at my writing desk. The computer is open. The coffee is steaming. The morning light drapes itself dimly around me. I’ve set the stage perfectly. I put my fingers to the keys, eager for meaning to emerge from my palms, but all I see is a blinking cursor on a blank page. 

Nothing. Absolutely nothing happens. The cursor stares back at me,  taunts me, waits for me. With each blink, the cursor gets louder, until it screams at me. Do Something! I panic. I type words. But they are meaningless words. It’s all trying. It’s all bull sh-. I erase the words. I sit with the cursor. The cursor has found me out. I am an imposter. 

I told you so, says the cynic in my head. I want to cry, because I felt the words within me only moments ago. They felt so alive, so clear, so true, so inspired. Where did they go? 

A moment later, as if on cue another voice emerges from within me. Here comes the hero. Ahhh, I know this chick. She comes from the dark corner of my mind, strutting like a total badass. She walks up to the cynic, taps her on the shoulder. Startled out of her doubting reverie, the cynic slowly turns. Their glances meet; the hero tilts her head down, and glares. The cynic rolls her eyes, knowing that she is totally misunderstood. 

I’ll show you, says the Hero. Then, she struts away.

I watch the drama play out in my head. The doubting cynic meeting the always overcoming hero. I wish they could learn to be friends.  The hero always seems to win, but I’m starting to think the cynic has a point. The hero is exhausting. Always overcoming.

I chuckle. Maybe this isn’t a drama, maybe it is a comedy. An absurd comedy that borders on the edge of insanity. Maybe, there is space within me for both the cynic and the hero. Maybe, I just need to watch and enjoy the entertainment. 

I’ve always lived with a healthy dose of doubt in my life - doubting myself, life, God, this new thing, that new thing, people, the things people say, teams, motivations, abilities, goals, organizations. You name it, I’ve probably had my doubts about it.  I’ve been trained to overcome these doubts. I’ve been told to silence the doubts and buy-in to whatever team I am part of in the moment. I’ve been told to fake it till I make it. Maybe, I've got it all wrong about doubt. Maybe doubt is not something to be overcome or silenced, but something to be understood. Maybe it is time to dig into doubt, and discover the power within it.

So, what is doubt, and where does it come from? To doubt means to call into question the truth of, to be uncertain about, to lack confidence in, to consider unlikely. The latin origin of doubt means - to waver or hesitate. For me, doubt is the nagging, ever-present voice that constantly asks, ‘are you sure?’ My response is typically - no, I am not sure that it will go the way I hope, and yes, I am sure that I still want to try. 

Doubt isn’t the enemy of belief or buy-in; doubt reaffirms our buy-in. Beneath doubt lives deep longing. Self-doubt often veils the vulnerability of our deeper desires. If you thought for a moment about the things you doubt, what would they be? An ability to do something, a higher power, a person, belonging in a certain sphere, an outcome. So often we get caught in the doubt, in convincing ourselves that the doubts are or aren’t true, that we totally miss what lives beneath the doubt. Beneath doubt, there is deep longing. Let’s dive a little deeper into my current doubts about writing.

I doubt my ability to write something meaningful. I doubt that its worth the time investment. I doubt that anyone will read it. Rather than simply overcoming or dismissing these doubts, if I replaced the words, I doubt, with the words, I want, my doubts take on new power. I doubt my ability to write something meaningful becomes I want to write something meaningful. It feels like a sucker punch of truth to the gut.

I want to write something meaningful. I want to invest the time in writing. I want someone to read it. Vulnerable and powerful. That is how I feel actually admitting these things to myself. It feels powerful because they are true, and it feels vulnerable because there is no guarantee that they will happen. There is no guarantee that I will write something meaningful. There is no guarantee that anyone will read what I write. But I will write, and in writing, I will find out. 

        Doubt isn't the enemy of belief and buy-in; giving up on the thing you want because you don't know if it will work out is the enemy. You may not win the game. The relationship may not work out. God may be way different than you imagine. You may fumble your words when you give that big speech. If you doubt it, that isn't the cue to stop, that may be the voice telling you that you deeply desire it. So play the game, give the relationship a go, get to know God, give the speech, and to myself, write the damn words. Tell the cynic and the hero that they want the same thing. Tell them to go have a drink together.