I had an old boyfriend who complained that I never gave him a work of art (painting, sculpture, etc.). I told him that my creations were my babies, and I couldn’t give them to just anyone because they were a part of me. I would only give them to those I thought would best take care of them. Usually I had a sense of that based on the way they treated me. (So essentially, I was telling him that he wasn’t treating me well enough to deserve one of my babies.)
Yesterday I made the mistake of sharing my ideas for a work-in-progress to the wrong person. I gave this person a chance to back out by giving vague answers in the beginning, but I inadvertently ended up intriguing this person even more. Call it naivete or foolishly feeling flattered that someone was taking an interest in what I was working on while I was buzzing with excitement. I allowed myself to be manipulated to give a summary of my fetal-stage, story-in-progress to someone who wasn’t even part of my Inner Circle.
Big mistake. I should have kept my mouth shut—perhaps even say that the ideas haven’t quite gelled yet and I don’t want to lose my thunder by spilling the beans. Because after chatting with this person, I felt like I could see the blood running down my legs and pooling on the floor, my insides twisting and cramping, all the while I’m yelling at myself, “why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut, you idiot!” Now I see why HB says one shouldn’t announce that one is pregnant until after the first trimester. Likewise, one shouldn’t talk about one’s ideas so prematurely.
Anyway, lesson learned: I need to treat my ideas like my works of art. I need to keep them even closer to my chest, lest someone’s spittle or stank eye sully them. Or even worse—keep them from seeing the light of day by throwing them on the ground and stomping the life out of them, all with a dismissive comment or lackluster response.