Don't Doubt My Doubts

BTW—

doubting my doubts?

Yeah...that doesn’t help.

The Minimum Flair is 15

If they gave badges for daydreaming,

I’d have a sash so heavy with flair

I’d outshine the entire waitstaff at Chotchkie’s.

(You know the one—Office Space?

Minimum 15 pieces of flair?

Preferred 37

Yeah. I’m at 137. And counting.)

See, I don’t just drift into La La Land—

I host walking tours.

I pull people in,

I paint the walls with “what ifs,”

I build castles out of maybe’s

and throw open the gates to “someday.”

Because maybe I missed a crack.

And cracks matter.

But what I don’t need—

is someone stepping in with that

“Let me help” voice,

trying to fix my process

by doubting my doubts.

Because doubting is

how I get there.

I dream.

Then I doubt the dream.

Then I doubt the doubt of the dream.

Then I chase the whole thing

in circles

until it turns into a breakthrough

with a surprise plot twist.

And if you jump in mid-spin,

trying to patch my uncertainty,

trying to clear my clouds with your sunshine...

You think you’re helping.

You’re not.

You’re cracking the egg

before the chick is ready.

And if you break it for me,

I don’t hatch.

I stall.

I shrink.

And poof—there goes the dream.

So let me doubt.

Let me spin.

Let me sit in the mess

until I find the thread that leads me through.

Because I don’t need you to save the dream.

I just need you

to believe

that I know how to find it.