Dear Somebody #19: We Shall Get There Someday
I am an impatient person.
It's hard for me to admit that I don't like being at the starting line. I don't even like being in the middle―I only want to be near the end, confident that I've run the entire course (read: that I've succeeded), satisfied that I've run it well (read: that I am able), and exalted by the progress I've made (read: that I am constantly improving).
I want to be good at everything I do. There is a fear of failure that laces through me and often, it prevents me from doing anything at all: if I choose not to run at all, there's a zero percent chance of me being unable to finish the race. There's a zero percent chance I'll disappoint myself (or others). Sadly, there's also a zero percent chance I'll feel what I really want to feel: alive.
Almost daily, I learn (over and over again) that it's not the beginning or the end that matters. It's the middle bit, the part we struggle through, the part I don't even let myself get to―that makes us come alive. It's the doing that lets us surprise ourselves. Through the process of doing, we learn that we are alive and full of doubt, alive and full of wonder, alive and filled with the ability to try as many times as we can.
I try to hold onto this feeling, the realization that I am alive, that I exist―whenever it comes close. It bursts inside me like fresh air when I jump into the pool and begin swimming even though I feel anxious. It is victorious when I've been trying to draw something new for days and color finally begins to make sense. It shadows me when I feel uncertain, gently reminding me that what I do next is entirely up to me.
The direction I go in rarely matters, as long as I begin. And as I take one step after the other, I remember to be exactly where I am. There is no hurry. We shall get there someday.
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