I’m not one for resolutions.
This is probably because I’m terrible at remembering them and I lack the discipline to keep them even if I do remember they exist. So best to not make them at all.
As 2012 dawned, I was asked by some friends to join their indoor soccer team. This shouldn’t be a big deal; it’s rec league, indoor soccer. Basically if you have a pulse and paid your dues, you can play. The team isn’t competitive, it’s more for fun. And yet I still found myself paralyzed at the thought of playing, fearing that I’d be terrible, that I wouldn’t be able to do it. I haven’t played any sort of sport since elementary school. In a word, I feared I would fail. But I did it; I said I would play. I hyperventilated on my way to our first practice.
Revelation: I’ve had a BLAST. I mean a BLAST.
I LOVE IT.
I can’t believe I ever considered not playing. I can’t wait for the next season. It’s not that I’m particularly good, but that isn’t the point, is it?
I realized how much my fear of failure has paralyzed me in all these aspects of my life. I literally don’t do things because I’m worried about looking bad or ignorant, being terrible at it, or not living up to my ridiculous expectations, not being the best version of myself. I’m so insular.
And so, for 2012, I’ve decided that each month I’ll take something that scares me and I’ll try it. I’ll face it. I’m consciously trying to keep expectations out of it. I’m going for the experience.
Ann Lamott said, “Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start somewhere.” With that in mind, I started in earnest my first novel in mid-January and it’s coming along, slow and steady. It’s outlined, and I’ve only about 5,000 words of it written but it’s forming. It’s thrilling. I can’t stop thinking about the story, can’t wait to get back to it. I have no idea if it’s any good. My goal is to have over 60,000 words by the end of the year. Hold me to that, will you?
February and March have brought their own fears and own challenges, neither of which I’m ready to write about just yet but know that they are identified & in progress and I’m super uncomfortable with them both.
I don’t know what other fears I’ll face this year. It seems horribly personal to consider. I wish I was frightened of something like public speaking, or heights, something easier to face than the personal demons I carry around in my own Pilgrim’s Progress Jansport full of self-loathing, self-aggrandizing & pride.
