I am about to take a risk.
A calculated one.
A paced one.
But a risk nonetheless.
And I’m scared.
I’m scared I might fail.
I’m scared I’m making a wrong choice.
I’m scared that I’ll have trouble fitting everything in and I’ll lose focus on what’s important.
I’m scared I’ll make people upset.
But most of all, I’m scared that it might work.
That it could be the piece I’ve been looking for.
That it could provide me with the freedom I’ve been craving.
Where I am is comfortable. Known. Stable.
But I want more.
I’ve tried before and didn’t quite fail but it wasn’t the answer.
This may be.
It feels right.
But it also feels risky, which makes me want to pull back.
But then I’ll never know what may have been.
Tonight, I am committing to trying.
I am making the promise of self support rather than self sabotage.
I started by making a list of all the risks I have taken that have paid off.
One is fresh on my mind.
I took the biggest risk of my life choosing to stay in Atlanta.
Choosing to move near Brock.
Choosing to let myself be vulnerable.
And to let myself love again.
That risked more than anything else ever could.
And I’m happier than ever.
I wonder what this new risk might bring?
At the least, I’ll know I’ve tried.
But hopefully, just hopefully, I’ll be able to add it to my list of successes in another year or two.
I’m going to get myself out of my way, take down the roadblocks of “what if” and enjoy the ride.