That's what Steven Pressfield calls the enemy inside of us, in his book The War of Art: the Resistance. It's not evil -- it's merely selfish, lazy, scared, and intent on immediate gratification. The Resistance is the force that votes for fries and candy instead of exercise, for an evening watching brainless TV instead of reading that book or working on that project, for another drink and a one-night-stand instead of figuring out why your relationship is on the rocks.

The Resistance votes against risk. It wants to be comfortable, with warm, safe, and well-fed being a good baseline. The trouble is, that the Resistance is a system evolved to keep us alive in caveman conditions. To keep us from being eaten by lions, tigers, and bears. To keep us from being cast out by the tribe midwinter, by agreeing with the chief and rubbing blue mud in our bellybuttons to please the weather gods. It's good at that stuff.

What is the Resistance doing nowadays? Overreacting to how Tiffany snubbed us on Facebook. Telling us that if we reveal what band we really like, that we will be laughed at, and it will be horrible. Convincing us not to make our art, chase our dream, because it's sure to be rejected. None of these fears is entirely invalid, but they are all out of proportion. The Resistance just isn't calibrated for a life of abundance and safety where you can choose who you hang out with.

The Resistance hasn't heard of self-actualization. The future is far away and full of dangers. Leaving a legacy is beyond it, except genetically.

So, when the Resistance gets its arms wrapped around our future-thinking, creative, better self, it can really drag us down. This winter, it got me. But now the sun is back, and I've won at least one battle: Wynged is now live! That may not sound like much to you, but it took much more work than it reasonably should have to get it ready and hit "publish." That gap between reason and reality -- that was the Resistance.

Bronwyn Boltwood