Do you realize how long it has been since I have done something truly brave? Courageous? Daring? Risky?
Risk, while once my middle name, has little place in my life anymore. I have increasingly taken steps in the past 10 years or so to remain well within my comfort zone, and let me tell you - it's a narrow zone at this point. In the name of "staying safe" or making "safe" choices, I realize things have normalized to the point of being utterly bored and without forward movement. Standstill is not even the word. And it leaves me feeling extremely restless. What's up with that?
In reflecting on this lately, I have remembered all kinds of events in my life when I was daring. Or at least comfortable being out of my comfort zone, if that makes any sense. Besides the fact that I was quite a rebel generally, I did all kinds of unsafe things - like run across the highway playing "chicken" or invite a total stranger (for all intents and purposes) to prom or go on blind dates. Or tell the truth about how I feel or what I think. I was very brave and unaffected (for the most part) by what people thought of me. Like when I performed dances and skits with my Baha'i youth workshop in front of my ENTIRE high school for a school assembly. Or when I traveled to China by myself to teach English at a university and middle school for a summer during college. Or when, on a whim and with little more than "attraction" guiding the way, I met up with someone with whom I had been chatting online.
Mind you, all of these things might seem mundane and pretty mild. They were to me too, at the time. Now, though, I look back on it all and think "No way would I/could I do that!"
There is an episode I vividly remember from my childhood that comes to mind just now - a good illustration of what perhaps is holding me back. I could not have been more than six years old or so. I was on a field trip with my class at a forest preserve. It was a lovely sunny day. My friends and I were running with abandon across a field, arms outstretched as if we were flying. Indeed, I think part of me felt like I was flying. I think we were screaming with delight too. You know how six-year-olds can be. The feeling I had was utter freedom - elation, contentment, joy. And I think we were not supposed to be running around. Just as I looked back to see if my friend Elizabeth was catching up to me, I ran smack into a signpost - like a "swim at your own risk" sign. (Duh!) I still have the scar under my right arm where I had to have stitches that day from the gash the sign inflicted upon me.
I can tell you that I never run while looking backwards anymore. I can also tell you that the thought of traveling internationally causes my anxiety when once I thought it was a breeze. Actually, I don't even think I thought much about it at all! Lacey was describing her jaunt to Fiji on the way to Aussie-land and all I could think was, "How could I travel somewhere and not really know where I was staying or anything?" This would have hardly given me pause in my braver days.
So what then - what is the issue? Have I just run into too many signposts (literally and figuratively) to feel good about or exhilarated by risk anymore? Yes, I have definitely had my share of experiences that burned me and scattered the ashes. And quite frankly, sure - I'm not in the mood for that anymore. I’m just plain tired in a way. So, have I just become what I imagined "adults" are supposed to be like? My bright purple fuzzy socks say otherwise. Am I, dare I say, afraid of failure, hurt, rejection, judgment? Or worse - afraid I might actually succeed or be ok at the other end of things? Perhaps I’m held back by imperfection - that if it is not perfect then let’s not try at all. Wow.
I’d say I just need to move to the new cheese but I am not sure what it is. I’d say I need to regain footing on the path and focus, but I’m fairly sure that “the” path is not “my” path at the moment. And I have temporarily misplaced the map to my true path.