Pilgrim in Progress

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.

Diving Board

I lost my job this morning.
I wasn't expecting it consciously, though I think somewhere in my mind I suspected a change was coming.

I was a novice grant writer, hired to find funds based only on my gumption, my charisma and my writing skills. I successfully got grants but they need someone with more experience and I simply can't provide that. If it were a bigger office and I could be mentored, this wouldn't be a conversation, but unfortunately, they are small. I don't blame them for the termination; I'd do the same thing. I'll miss them all terribly. I love—and I mean LOVE—my coworkers. I love my bosses, love the board, love the members. My office was a truly fun place to work; they are friends and they matter to me. I haven't a single bad thing to say about them, and I'm assured that feeling is mutual. I leave with great recommendations and the knowledge that I'd be an enthusiastic rehire if they could find a place for me. All of that is good.

Here's a secret: when people ask me what my dream job is, the answer has always been a writer, but I've felt like it was insensible to say so. I love to write; I love words. I love forming thoughts and arguments onto paper. Writing breathes life into me and I want to believe it does the same for my readers. I don't know if it is my gift, but given the choice I'd like it to be.
And so, I finally admit it: what I want to be when I grow up isn't a grants manager for a conservation nonprofit (though that was great), it's to be a writer. A real one. A published one. But what to write? I haven't a clue. I want to speak truth. In a quiet way, I am relieved to be let go.

Maybe this is it, the kick off the diving board toward doing what I so dearly love to do. I'm terrified. Right now the lake looks cold, I'm unsure of my swimming skills and that water's surface is coming fast.

Keep Them Somewhere

In college I got involved in the outing club (Called, originally enough, the SU Outing Club, or SUOC). I got involved because I wanted to learn new skills and challenge myself outdoors, I wanted to get over fears.

I learned to cave, because I was fearful of small spaces.
I learned to kayak, because water frightens me. Being underwater frightens me more.
I learned to climb, because I am so acrophobic that I get nervous just seeing heights in movies.

It was a way of controlling the fears I could control, to conquer those few things in life I could conquer. I can’t even count how many times, deep into some very small, wet, rocky, cold cave, squeezing through spaces that just aren’t rational, I’d think, “WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING!?” but then I’d come to see things that I knew very few would ever get to see. Massive underground waterfalls. Cave formations that were 50 feet long, others 3 stories high and white and gleaming. Rooms bigger than football fields. Hibernating bats covered in crystallized dew. I saw wonders.

I've done this several times. This is my friend Benji, but it might as well be me.

As I’ve aged, my terrors and fears have become more specific and less physical. They aren’t fears of the dark, or spaces, or tangible things. My terrors aren’t boogey men; they are internal. They are fears of breaking, of disappointment; fears of loneliness and unwanted isolation, fears of rejection and of love. They are as much fears of the past as they are fears of the present. I try not to think about my fears, keep them somewhere I don’t have to see or address them.

Leslie said something today that forced me to think them.
“The best things in life are terrifying,” she said. “But I imagine the first 30 seconds will be terrifying then you find your voice. And solace. Don’t let fear and exhaustion win your heart. You always have a say in the matter. Always.”

I used to be so keen to face my fears in the most direct way possible. No longer.