There is your calling — the work that you feel called to do, the work you think you would really love.

And then there is that question that comes up: am I talented enough to do that?

Depending on your psyche, this may take the form of

Am I hard-working enough?

Am I smart enough?

Am I skilled enough?

Am I charismatic enough?

You fill in the blank.

The debate goes on and on. One inner voice doubts and trembles. The other voice reminds you of that compliment so and so gave, or how well that other project did. The question persists: can you hack it, or not?

Sorry my dear: this debate will never be settled. It’s a seesaw by nature, endlessly tipping back and forth.

Here’s what you need to know:

The question is a trap, planted by your ego to keep you playing small.

The question is a huge distraction.

Playing big does not come from puffed-up confidence about your ability to actualize your vision.

Playing big comes from falling so in love with a pursuit, that the question “am I good enough at this” falls away, crowded out by your passionate dive into the work.

Set the question “Am I good enough?” aside.
Take it off your plate and put it back on the buffet.
Take it off your desk and toss it out the window.

You are already in love with the work you feel called to do. Now you need to allow yourself to fall into that love. It’s a surrender, a downward movement toward the work. It’s a choice.

Give yourself silent time and protected space with the work to let the romance blossom. Draw the drapes. Shut out the neighbors and the world. Meet. Meet.

There is a kind of waiting room. Somewhere in the cosmos, your great work waits, ever patient, along with millions of other great works — those of your brothers and sisters. It’s a cosmic bus terminal. Your great work waits there while you debate the questions: “Am I talented enough to do this?” “Am I strong enough?” “Smart enough?”

When you put aside those questions and choose your work, not out of certain confidence (which will never arrive) but out of love, out of falling, out of fidelity, your great work leaves that waiting room, and begins making its way toward you.

Look out.