As a preface-- I'd been meaning to sit down and write for a while, but somehow, excuses kept popping up. Schoolwork, friends, family-- I had a metric ton of viable reasons to keep me from actually devoting time to something that I enjoy. Love, even! It didn't even dawn on me that my behavior might be counterintuitive until more recently, and trying to diagnose the issue didn't help, either. I guess, in the end, it just came down to just doing it. No more excuses.
Speaking of excuses! Although flopping into bed and staring at the ceiling for a good hour didn't help explain why it is that I've been holding myself back from pursuing writing, it did make me realize that there's much more I've been avoiding. I'm prone to complaining to people about all the things that I want to do, about the gap I need to close, the things that I need to learn, and then... don't take any steps towards any of it. All bark and no bite, right?
So that's what this first entry is, and hopefully what the entries to come will also be: a space for me to detail some of my more intimate thoughts, to share art, to write about my dreams and maybe confess a thing or two... just because I can. There's no reason not to! And although this really is just a small step, it's a step forward, which is what I've been avoiding for too long. Here goes!
Behind my family's old house, there was a school with a steep hill around the back that had a sharp turn at its foot. I guess in hindsight, it wasn't that steep at all, but to me, it might as well have been a mountain. As a child, I would go biking there with my friend, watching as she carefully navigated on the pavement, before following by blasting down the incline at full speed. Of course, every single time I did it, I was rewarded with bloody knees and gravel in my skin. And yet, when my legs healed up, I would find myself there again. Peddling as hard as I could, laughing like my inevitable fall was the most exciting thing I'd be doing that day (which it definitely was).
I still have scars and bumps on my knees from every time I faced off with that hill! I'd love to claim them as battle scars, but I guess the sad truth is that there's simply no glory in being proud of something that I've lost. Kid Pretoria used to slip and skin her knees, took diving classes to conquer her fear of heights (a temporary fix, but what a rush!), could do anything without fear. When did I become so scared of falling?
When asked about my worst fears, I tell people-- from employers, to peers-- that I am most afraid of stagnating. What a load of bullshit. In my desperation to not appear that I am struggling to keep up with the progress that everyone else seems to be making, I've held myself back from taking the risks necessary for genuine growth. REAL effort. In the end, that insecurity only perpetuates my nightmares, turning my fleeting thoughts into a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Am I being melodramatic? To anyone who doesn't know me very well, who may think I have my life together, kindly tell my middle school theatre teacher that the 'C' he gave me was total baloney. Anyone else probably knows I'm telling the truth; for the past few years, I've been going nowhere fast.
So here I am, writing again, taking a tiny step forward. Maybe it's not much, effortless to anyone else. But as for me... I'm hoping this is a permanent building block.