TURBINE | KAPOHAU

I’m a little tired. Nothing unusual, but tiredness also makes me anxious, which makes me doubt. I start doubting – in this construction, a type of ruthless, self-interrogative questioning stripped of the possibility of a positive outcome – my ability to continue writing where I left off from yesterday. I get to thinking about doubt: Doubt, and the wonderfully insidious way he (yes, doubt is a guy in this analogy) has of rearing his head the moment my defences are down. Doubt is like the clinger at a bad party, an energy vampire who knows just where and when to find you, which happens to be at the exact moment you’re about to leave, exhausted, a little depressed, standing in the doorway, against the doorjamb, thumbing at your dying phone for an Uber while checking Google Maps to remind yourself where you are.

Of course, it’s raining outside. 

And it’s either a triple surge fare or a twenty-k hike through abandoned minefields, disused medical facilities, toxic waste dumps, and charnel grounds to wherever it is you’re going now. Home, probably, or your computer to write. Doubt needs no invitation to grab your shoulder at the door, feels all too comfortable sidling up and putting his arm around you, leaning in close enough for you to smell his stale, dog breath, as he reels off at you in a rank half-belch: ‘Say, I’ve been thinking about that, uh, scene you were writing. So, what basically sucks about it is this … ’ Standing there, in the threshold between Doubt and the outside world, which right now, seem as though purpose-built to injure and exhaust you, is a kind of hell; Doubt’s never shy about speaking his mind. 

Yet Doubt doesn’t get the final word here. Nor does the world. 

In matters of life and the heart and whole sphere of human possibility and invention, there are other players. Arguably, more important (or at least more personally useful) ones. (Yes, doubt has his role, ie, a check against unfettered ego and arrogance, but let’s move forward for now … ) There’s someone who knows exactly how to put Doubt in his place. Faith – in my analogy, a kind of whip-smart boss bitch – just so happens to be your best friend at times like this. She’ll happily throw her drink in Doubt’s face. Or a punch. Other times you’ll have to do this yourself. (Remembering, of course: violence,[1] while arguably useful in the abstract, never solves much of anything in real life.) Faith is like a guide, mentor, and personal cheerleader all rolled into one. (My Faith is a woman. Maybe that’s just because of the name, but it doesn’t really matter. You can anthropomorphise your own Faith and gender them how you please.) When Faith’s around, you can be sure she’ll be in your corner cheering you on, telling you that whatever it is you’re doing – writing or boxing; gymnastics or competitive eating; horse-riding or making sinister masks from clay and bits of lint – it’s worth it (have Faith). Whether this faith is founded or is completely and utterly irrelevant. You can’t expect to fully know this at the start. It’s not allowed.

The When in that last paragraph is an important qualifier; one thing about Faith is that she can, at times – and I mean this with all due respect, reverence, and kindness – be a little flaky. It’s not uncommon for her to arrive late to a mutual engagement, ie, you and her and the typing machine. This isn’t personal. Probably she doesn’t even know why she does it. (Maybe Faith gets a little run down by Doubt as well? Who can say.) But if you show up, if you start the work, Faith will follow. Sometimes she’ll get there before you. Those days are the best.