Wednesday, November 19, 2003
Afraid of Going too Far
Sometimes life deals you a blow; something you weren’t quite expecting. Something bad. And sometimes, it deals you more than one at a time. It’s as if the whole world stops, and yet you can’t seem to catch your breath. Times like these are meant for taking stock, re-evaluating and re-prioritizing. And for facing one’s biggest fears.
Someone close to me is going through a very rough time. As a result, I’ve learned what it means to be a best friend. It means feeling another’s pain as if it were my own. I have always been a sensitive person. I can cry so easily it’s almost comical. But I have learned something about myself – my compassion far exceeds the confines of my body. At this moment, this is defined by an immeasurable sadness, but I understand enough about life to realize that this can also, someday, be an asset to me. I mean, if I can take on someone else’s grief, then certainly I am capable of spreading some degree of joy. Surely the scales must work this way.
Life is short. This is true no matter how long you live. But in the day to day, we forget this simple fact. We treat each day as if there were so many more guaranteed to follow in its footsteps. I know very few people who are lucky enough to be able to say they lived their lives to their fullest, seen all they’d longed to, crossed off each item on their life to-do list. Why is that? Why do we always insist on putting everything off? “I’ll do that when,” or “I’ll get to it tomorrow.” We always seem to say, “Wouldn’t it be great if…” instead of “Remember how incredible it was when.” It’s silly. It’s pointless. It’s almost an insult.
I never go all the way. I never live life to its fullest. I have my moments, sure. The spontaneous road trip, the months of backpacking across foreign countries, the shady film shoots that took me far and wide. I got married in a war zone, for g-d’s sake. And granted, my ‘life-is-a-journey’ approach to living does give me some bonus points. But when I look at the wide shot, when I hold myself up to that great cosmic mirror, it’s not a pretty picture. And not only do some days merely pass me by, but I actually look forward to their end.
So what’s stopping me? What am I scared of?
I’m afraid of going too far in my writing, of hiding behind words or revealing too much. I’m afraid of going too far in the kitchen, of turning up the flame or adding the wrong seasoning. I’m afraid of driving too fast, of making quick decisions, of saying the wrong thing, of feeling the wrong thing, of waiting too long. I’m afraid of putting it out there, for the whole world to see. To judge. And to be disappointed. In me.
I’m afraid of falling. I’m afraid that if I go too far or move too fast, I’ll fall.
Or is that fail?
But in the grand scheme of things, these small failures I fear so much mean little. They are merely signposts along the way, marking the places where I tried, learned, and moved on. Without the failure, I would never really know when I've managed to succeed. So why does it take an earth-shattering event to make me realize this? I guess it proves the point that there is a lesson to be learned in everything, and that even bad things can produce positive results. Even if it's in the most indirect way.
So here I am, battling my fears and forging ahead. Last night in class, I turned up the heat and burned my onions. It may not have been on purpose, but it was timely. And you know what happened? Nothing. So let's see what happens when I try to push myself in other areas, when I break my self-imposed confines and re-define my own limits. Or remain limitless
What do I have to be afraid of? Falling? I can probably withstand a scraped knee.
We'll call it a soldier's stripe.
Sometimes life deals you a blow; something you weren’t quite expecting. Something bad. And sometimes, it deals you more than one at a time. It’s as if the whole world stops, and yet you can’t seem to catch your breath. Times like these are meant for taking stock, re-evaluating and re-prioritizing. And for facing one’s biggest fears.
Someone close to me is going through a very rough time. As a result, I’ve learned what it means to be a best friend. It means feeling another’s pain as if it were my own. I have always been a sensitive person. I can cry so easily it’s almost comical. But I have learned something about myself – my compassion far exceeds the confines of my body. At this moment, this is defined by an immeasurable sadness, but I understand enough about life to realize that this can also, someday, be an asset to me. I mean, if I can take on someone else’s grief, then certainly I am capable of spreading some degree of joy. Surely the scales must work this way.
Life is short. This is true no matter how long you live. But in the day to day, we forget this simple fact. We treat each day as if there were so many more guaranteed to follow in its footsteps. I know very few people who are lucky enough to be able to say they lived their lives to their fullest, seen all they’d longed to, crossed off each item on their life to-do list. Why is that? Why do we always insist on putting everything off? “I’ll do that when,” or “I’ll get to it tomorrow.” We always seem to say, “Wouldn’t it be great if…” instead of “Remember how incredible it was when.” It’s silly. It’s pointless. It’s almost an insult.
I never go all the way. I never live life to its fullest. I have my moments, sure. The spontaneous road trip, the months of backpacking across foreign countries, the shady film shoots that took me far and wide. I got married in a war zone, for g-d’s sake. And granted, my ‘life-is-a-journey’ approach to living does give me some bonus points. But when I look at the wide shot, when I hold myself up to that great cosmic mirror, it’s not a pretty picture. And not only do some days merely pass me by, but I actually look forward to their end.
So what’s stopping me? What am I scared of?
I’m afraid of going too far in my writing, of hiding behind words or revealing too much. I’m afraid of going too far in the kitchen, of turning up the flame or adding the wrong seasoning. I’m afraid of driving too fast, of making quick decisions, of saying the wrong thing, of feeling the wrong thing, of waiting too long. I’m afraid of putting it out there, for the whole world to see. To judge. And to be disappointed. In me.
I’m afraid of falling. I’m afraid that if I go too far or move too fast, I’ll fall.
Or is that fail?
But in the grand scheme of things, these small failures I fear so much mean little. They are merely signposts along the way, marking the places where I tried, learned, and moved on. Without the failure, I would never really know when I've managed to succeed. So why does it take an earth-shattering event to make me realize this? I guess it proves the point that there is a lesson to be learned in everything, and that even bad things can produce positive results. Even if it's in the most indirect way.
So here I am, battling my fears and forging ahead. Last night in class, I turned up the heat and burned my onions. It may not have been on purpose, but it was timely. And you know what happened? Nothing. So let's see what happens when I try to push myself in other areas, when I break my self-imposed confines and re-define my own limits. Or remain limitless
What do I have to be afraid of? Falling? I can probably withstand a scraped knee.
We'll call it a soldier's stripe.
