Gentle Reader,
I had hoped this post would be funny, or at least snarky, because that’s the kind of mood I’m in, but it took an introspective turn. Such is the nature of writing I suppose. The words express something beyond the surface.
Kate asks us to: try.
Go.
If at first you don’t succeed, throw something.
That’s always been my motto.
When I was five and my parents were trying to teach me how to tie my shoes, they had this little wood block threaded through with laces. Over and over again they would show me how to knot and loop and twist. Over and over again, I would fail. It wasn’t until my mom told me that I’d always have to live close her to so that she could come over and tie my shoes every morning and I flew into a rage that I accomplished the awful task. (Funnily enough, I live just around the corner from my parents).
A lot of things come easy to me. The stuff that doesn’t makes me angry. If I can’t catch on to a concept quickly, I usually abandon it. (Hence my family referring to me as “barely domesticated”).
I’m not much of a try-er.
Gliding ever-more deeply into the third decade of life, I wonder: What have I missed?
Pride and fear lock arms and keep me hemmed into a comfortable space. Oh, it’s wide. The view is nice. But there’s a lot out there, beyond the fence, that I’ve never experienced. Like ice skating. Who gets to be in her 30s without having ice skated? Yeah, yeah, those pesky health problems play a part, too. But still. There’s a lot I keep myself back from. So many…pieces, longings, kept shut tight.
Maybe it’s time to try.
Stop.
