December 1, 2019

Hey Readers! If you haven’t checked out my original post Thoughts on Fear, give it a read. It provides context to getting into this piece. Thanks for checking this out. If you’re not already a subscriber, click the plus square at the bottom of the page so you don’t miss any posts. Happy reading.

I’ve spent prolonged periods of time allowing fear to stifle my progress. I procrastinate and then eventually write the intended task off. I get caught up in the prettiness of the dream and moonwalk away from the discipline to get it done. This journey has been a continuous cycle of inspiration, idea, plan, freak out, then abandon it only to return some time later. I’m in my thirties and have decided to stop playing it safe, to allow myself to fail big or fail small, either way to just enjoy making my imprint on this one time gift called life.

I decided that I want to become the type of person I admire: someone who is courageous and uninhibited with taking risks to achieve their goals and live their dreams. Of course there is some caution that has to be taken, but it’s my time to live life looking ahead and enjoy the moments, instead of staring in the rearview mirror and wondering what if, lamenting on how different my life could have been.

With this newfound, semi-stroke of confidence, I embraced one of the hardest, most terrifying decisions — to move from Houston to Atlanta. My best friend of over thirteen years talked me into it, selling this move as an opportunity to go big because I’d already went home. And even her reasoning took a lot of prodding and reassurance. Simply put, I was mortified about moving to a place where she was the only person I knew. I didn’t have a job, didn’t have a guaranteed path or plan, which is vastly different when compared to moving for school. My mind raced with all of the possibilities of everything going wrong. I’d struggle for cash, wouldn’t be able to pay rent, have my car repossessed, and worst of all, it would irreparably damage our friendship.

As a result, I’d be stagnant and broken. I’d fall into an irreversible state of depression, never write another word, and fail to accomplish any of my personal goals. I wouldn’t be able to take care of myself at all. There weren’t any guarantees with this move. Did I truly have the courage and grit to make the uncertain work? Everything would be up in the air, and I would be forced to fly or to fall.

I decided to take a leap of faith, jump out of my comfort zone, and ship myself across the country. No lie, I was scared shit-less. But not scared enough to stay where I was.

I committed to the process. I sold belongings, gave others away, and packed what I needed into my little SUV and hit I-10 East. The move felt like going into a rehab, removing all of my distractions, well-known excuses, and sense of familiarity. It was a challenge to put it nicely. But this bold move set me on a pathway of courage that I’d lightly travelled before. But the magnitude of this move was much different.

The first thing I had to do was embrace the fears of change and uncertainty. I mean, in actuality, what really is certain aside from death and taxes? I had to get over not having the answers and not knowing all of the steps. I sang a few funeral songs and buried my inner-monologue, the voice that constantly told me I had to know all of the details. A friend told me that knowing everything removes faith from the equation. It meant that I leaned fully on my own understanding, which Proverbs speaks directly against doing. (On a side note, I’d never felt like I’d had to truly come to terms with the state of my faith and my personal relationship with God more than in this transitional process.)

Fast forward to present day, and it’s been a little over a year later and I’ve fell and failed. But, in a loose interpretation of a Ray Bradbury quote, I built my wings on the way down. Each time something set me back, be it traffic, extra work at work, dating, or even an opportunity not panning out, I’ve learned and am still working on not taking the situation personal and thinking failure is the absolute end. Change is the true constant, the guaranteed epithet of life.

By accepting change as constant, it lightened the severity of the punch if my plans did not fall as I saw fit. Accepting change pressed me to become more creative with problem-solving. Accepting change gave me the strength to be confident in my endeavors and in accepting my emotions. Accepting change forced me to accept all parts of myself, my identity, the complexities of my emotions and thoughts, and my quirks — all the things that make me who I am.

This move also opened the door for me to rediscover who I am, what I like, what my energy should be like according to my standards — not anyone else’s. I’m doing the work of improving my mental, spiritual, and physical health. I go to therapy every other week, the gym four to five times a week, two of those days with a trainer, eat mostly clean, pray, and write something every day — even if it is just a sentence.

I’ve made friends as an adult in a new city, which seemed so much easier as a kid. I’m rediscovering what it’s like to be social and engage in activities I enjoy. I have arrived and am prepared to tackle the next challenge life throws at me. Now, instead of being a paralyzing energy that overtakes my body, fear is a point of reference, a set of emotions to unpack. I pull out the layers of what is making me afraid. I process through the fear to move to the next step and the next step and the next step until the task is completed.