You only have to do your job.

There’s a reason I spend so much time on social media.

 Actually, there’s lots of reasons – some of them good, some of them bad, some of them neutral. I’ve made dear friends online, I’ve been exposed to ideas and books and people I never would have had the pleasure of discovering, I’ve been blessed with opportunities that only come from putting your words out for the internet to judge. But I also spend so much time on social media because I can get a quick fix of affirmation: pop off a quick idea without the laborious process of developing it, avoid the fear of inadequacy because it’s just a soundbite, and receive an undue affirmative response. So when I have to actually write or work on something longer (even a couple pages), especially if that work is either academic (cue: insecurity) or deeply personal (double cue), I’m terrified. 

I’m learning that almost 99% of my procrastination is due primarily to a debilitating fear of failure.

 Sure, a lot of it is boredom. But when you dearly love the work you’re lucky enough to get to do, that’s not usually the problem. This is never clearer to me than when I receive edits back from an editor. I’ve sat with a document open on my laptop for upwards of an hour before actually getting started. I make a cup of coffee, check Twitter, change the music, check Facebook, put some socks on, check Twitter, reheat the coffee, check Twitter. 

The potential for criticism and the amount of time I spend procrastinating are perfectly correlated.

 The significance of the project, the sense of inadequacy, the possibility of failure – anything with these factors is bound to incur a good amount of procrastination. A professor of mine told me that when she was working on procrastinating on her dissertation, a friend asked if there was any hurt in her past that might be lurking behind her procrastination. I almost let out an involuntary giggle when she said this to me, but I saw very quickly that this was a serious matter. “Hurt in your past?” I thought. “That seems just a little…extreme.” But the minute she started explaining her own story, I realized just how much my procrastination is directly linked to my own hurt: my fear of failure, my biting insecurity, my deeply-held belief that I have to earn my worth. When reading the parable of the talents in Matthew 25 recently, I realized just how much I’d warped the concept of “stewardship” in my own head. A story that’s intended to set you free – free to use your gifts well and fully, with the knowledge that they are not your own – had been twisted and bent in my own head into a story weighty with fear and guilt. 

I'm terrified that maybe I’ve been given five talents (or even two) and that I might waste them.

 I’d been reading the story with a lot of assumptions (shocker). I recently had a string of people offer me opportunities of different kinds. When people give you opportunities, they do it because they think you’re capable of using them well. They usually couch the opportunity in exactly that way: “I think you’re capable/gifted/talented at XYZ, and so I want to give you this opportunity.” Basically, “I perceive your gifts/talents reach a certain level I currently need, and so I’m giving you an opportunity to reach those standards.” So when people give you opportunities, you’re not just given something to do, you’re given a standard to reach, one you might not agree you’re actually capable of. There’s nothing really wrong with any of this when it comes to people. Humans have to assess their needs and the capabilities of others before giving out opportunities. But when you take that concept and apply it to God, it gets all warped and wonky. You can start believing that God hands out talents based on your worthiness. You can start believing that you have an enormous weight of responsibility to use them perfectly. You can start believing that He gives grace by throwing you an opportunity, but then you have to work hard by yourself from there. 

You can start believing that you need to prove to Him that He wasn’t wrong about you.

 That’s when opportunities become terrifying instead of exciting. That’s when they have the potential to stop you dead in your tracks, too overcome with fear to take the next step into them. It’s a good thing He doesn’t actually work that way. His grace is the source of the opportunity and the strength to complete it. He has a more realistic picture of your ability and inability than even you do. He knows how much you need Him. One of my favorite TED talks is Elizabeth Gilbert’s “Your elusive creative genius.” She criticizes the modern idea that “creative genius” can actually reside in a human person, because the weight of that responsibility is too great. The talk is really a breathtaking example of common grace. Gilbert manages to so exactly describe how God equips us in our work, all without acknowledging the existence of anything beyond vague “spirits” or “the open air.” But this is the idea that leaves me teary-eyed every time: all you can do is show up to do your part of the job. In her desperation over writer’s block or creative frustration, Gilbert turns to an empty corner and says, “I am putting everything I have into this. You know, I don’t have any more than this, so if you want it to be better, then you gotta show up and do your part of the deal, ok? But if you don’t do that, you know, the hell with it, I’m going to keep writing anyway, because that’s my job. And I would please like the record to reflect today that I showed up for my part of the job.” 

Friend, you just have to keep doing your job. Follow where He leads, do the next right thing, keep your eyes fixed on Him.

 What that looks like will get messy and complicated, definitely. But in the moments when I’m so terrified that I’ll misuse the gifts He’s given me, I find such peace in knowing that all I have to do is my part of the job. It’s the push I need to quit procrastinating, it’s the reminder I need to stop constant inner self-deprecating, it’s the truth I need to hold on to when I want to manufacture my own results. 

Obedience is my only job, and the good news is that the one who will show up to do the rest is a whole lot more powerful than an empty corner.