Doing it despite the fear
I'm on a mission this year.
This year, 2017, is The Year Of The Book for me. I'm 37 years old, I've been thinking about it for over 2 decades, talking about it frequently for 2 years, and I feel that if I don't do it now, I will never do it.
You see, writing is my so-called dream.
I say so-called, because from the very beginning, I have always sabotaged myself.
When I was a kid, a ferocious reader who would always prefer reading a book to spending time with people, I secretly dreamed of becoming a writer one day. It was a secret, because I was convinced I wasn't good enough, so I didn't dare tell anyone.
I started (and stopped) writing diaries for years. I would vow to myself to write in my new, pink and glittery diary, every single day, and if on the third day I couldn't think of anything interesting to write, I would lock it away, disappointed with myself, and convinced that I wasn't disciplined enough to write.
Then, a few months later, I would attempt it again. Sooner or later, I would "fail" to write one day, and being the "all-or-nothing"-person I used to be, I would deny myself to write. I didn't deserve to be a writer.
However, at school I had to write. And I loved it. And hated it.
Writing essays was simultaneously the best and the hardest part about school. I never worked harder than when I was writing. And I never felt greater satisfaction about any other aspect afterwards. In those moments, high on the sweet relief of having finished a piece with my name on it, I would gleefully tell myself: "You should do it! You can do it!"
But the high would dissipate, and with it the hope that I could give serious consideration to being a writer. It was a dumb idea. I wasn't nearly talented enough. Who do you think you are?
I never gave it a try.
I buried the dream, and thought I would find something else fulfilling.
But, you see, dreams aren't easily buried. They fight for their existence. They want to live!
In the most inconvenient moments, they will pop up their heads, look you fiercely in the eye, and say mischievously: "Remember me? I'm still here!"
I had so many reasons why it was safer not to chase this particular dream:
1. It was hard work.
2. It was difficult.
3. The chances of success were minuscule.
4. I would have to confront some uncomfortable truths.
5. Even worse, I would have to face criticism, something I couldn't handle well at.all.
6. It was scary.
7. I might be really crappy at it.
8. My parents would disapprove. (Despite being "grown-up", I've always worried about my parent's opinion.)
9. It's not social. (I felt like I should be social.)
10. It would make me fat. (A real and constant concern for me for roughly 20 years of my life. Maybe 25.)
So, I resisted. It seemed like the easy way out.
But you know what? It wasn't.
It wouldn't leave me alone. I have tried to turn my back to this dream for most of my life. But it won't die.
Not only because I enjoy the act of writing so much.
But, ever since I decided to take my life in my own hands and stare it bravely in the eye, despite the fear, amazing things have happened.
I have wanted to write down our love story almost from the moment it happened.
Not because it's ours, and dear to me (even though that's a big part of it).
No, I want to share it because it's so unlikely. Nobody gave us a chance in the beginning. If we would have listened to any of them, we wouldn't be together now.
You see, he is 25 years older than me.
He was still married at the time.
A father of four.
Four daughters.
The youngest one was six. The oldest ones were teenagers.
All the odds were against us. I dropped out of University, gave up my life in Germany, very much against my parents will, and moved across the world to be with him.
At the age of 23.
After only having known him for four months.
The odds weren't in our favour.
But it worked out.
Not because we are special. Far from it. We did only one, simple little thing: We listened to our hearts. Both of us felt strongly that this was something special. It was worth exploring.
It was worth getting hurt for.
We both knew (independently from each other - we talked about it much later), that, even if it didn't work out?
It would have been worth it.
This is where you come in.
I know that there is something you've been wanting to do for ages. We all have our secret desires.
Do you want to change jobs? Start your own business? Ask that cute guy/girl out? Lose weight? Write a book? Leave your relationship? Have a baby? Tell your other half that you don't want to have a baby?
There is something. We all have something.
Whatever it is, I make a wild guess and say that part of the reason that you haven't gone for it yet is FEAR. Fear that it might not work out.
Fear that you may hurt the people you love.
Fear that you may fail.
Fear that it may be too hard.
Fear that it's just too damn hard, and isn't it easier to accept your life the way it is now? After all, it's not that bad.
Oh honey, I've been there. That's been my life story until now. Telling myself to be grateful for what I have, because it's good.
But it's not quite good enough, is it?
And you feel like the most selfish person for wanting more. For wanting it all.
But you aren't.
You deserve the very best. You deserve to live a wildly adventurous, full, overflowing life. You deserve to make all your dreams come true. You deserve everything.
Go ahead, warrior, and go for it.
You have it in you to succeed.
And you deserve it.
xoxo Miriam
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Vol. 5