Wrangler Dani

I hate pretension. Probably most of my vigilant dislike comes from a sense that, given a foot or two of wiggle-room, I could easily become the arrogant, pretentious artist I oppose.

So, in my efforts to downplay my own talents, I hide behind false humility, insisting that my work isn’t good enough, that my writing doesn’t deserve any kind of accolades or future (oh, no, I say dramatically in the imaginary dungeon of my mind, don’t mind me, I’ll just be here, marveling at other people’s work and copywriting… grasping at the edges of my dream but never having courage to fully admit it.)

In a clever slight-0f-hand, I sign up for writer’s conferences and classes, still insisting that nothing will come of it and that nobody really wants to read my work. I’m so good at this two-faced approach that I have myself and everyone around me believing that I really don’t matter, that I don’t have a story to tell and that I’m just another dreamer. I fool myself into believing that this is the opposite of pretension – that my abusing of my dreams means I’m being “realistic” instead of cowardly, “humble” rather than so prideful that I can’t even risk rejection or criticism.

I walked into this year’s OC Christian Writer’s Conference with a much better sense of who I am and what I want than last year, but still not expecting what I got. I didn’t expect two editors to see right through my charade and call me out on it. A deft dodger of vulnerability, I didn’t expect them to treat me like a friend and make me admit my fears with tough love, honesty and encouragement. I didn’t expect to be welcomed as much this year as I felt shunned last year, to be given opportunities that my heart is unprepared to handle, and to walk away with a determination to pursue this dream and this art, even though it might well be terrifying and soul-baring and everything that I’ve tried so hard to avoid.

Because, yes, I will always fight with arrogance and pretension – and if I ever labor under the delusion that I’m a great writer you guys can feel free to smack me across the face with a choice chapter of Mark Twain or Annie Dillard. But I also fight with the God-given desire (and dare I say, talent?) that I have. He has gifted me with these opportunities and abilities, who am I to squander them in insecurity and fear?

I have tears in my eyes as I write this, because this means I have to stop splashing in the kiddie pool and take a leap into the deep end. It’s as scary as it is exhilliarating, but isn’t that the point? Who wants to get the end of life and rejoice in the “safeness” of one’s choices? Is it enough to be able to say, “well, I never actually did anything, but Lord knows I wasn’t pretentious.”

For me, at least, it’s not. Lord give me strength to remember this feeling, to follow-through on this realization, and to hold tight to Your hand as I make this journey.

Because it might get crazy, y’all. I’m pretty sure, actually, that it already is.