(No, I didn't actually finally get a real driver's license. Don't blame me, I'm a D.C. girl, through and through! So, that post is to come...)
I don’t know what started it, but I’ve been practically crippled by an irrational sense of fear and anxiety almost my entire life. It applied to everything, from leaving my room and facing the real world to making huge leaps that could have resulted in a multitude of exciting successes I could be proud to have accomplished. Let’s just say, “carpé diem” was definitely not in my vocabulary. Well, except for a couple of drunken nights… Otherwise, I’ve been at the mercy of my own neuroses and general craziness for so long, they’ve become some sort of sick religion. But right now, I’m learning how to let go.
It’s time I hold myself to a standard that means something to me. Forget my dad’s expectations of me, my boyfriend’s (and DEFINITELY my mother’s) and everyone else’s. I want to be proud of myself for setting and following through with my own goals, even though I'm still finding out what they are.
I remember how, at my last job, we were required to set “objectives” for ourselves for the coming year. I didn’t draw a complete blank, but I couldn’t think of anything that had to do with real personal improvement as a professional employee, unless you count “develop at least intermediate proficiency in Microsoft Excel.”
Eventually, it occurred to me (and by eventually, I mean yesterday): being twenty-three is what you make it. And it has nothing to do with Microsoft Excel; it’s about participating in your life and playing an active role in who you are and where you’re going.
So far, I have to admit, I don’t have the best track record. I’ve been freaking out and hiding under the table with my hands over my ears, eyes closed, singing unintelligible nonsense at the top of my lungs to drown out any sense of logic or sensibility.
And don’t get me wrong; I don’t want to be someone I’m not – let’s face it, I will never be the most reasonable head in a room full of people, even if the population of that room consists of no more than three individuals (myself included). I talk the talk and I can wear Lilly Pulitzer and pearls – hell, I own not one, but two pairs of tea gloves, and my pearls almost never come off except for when I shower. Whatever…what I’m trying to say is:
Starting today, I’m going to make a commitment to myself to take the steering wheel and risk the fact that I might crash a couple, a few, um, well who knows how many times. At least I’ll be able to say I tried, instead of throwing my hands up in the air and letting the car spin out of control by itself. From now on, I’m going to enjoy the view from my very own pink glitter Barbie convertible and just learn how to keep an eye out for my blind spots. If I try, I will learn. This, I know. I will get to wherever it is I want to go, but not if I don’t try.
For years, I’ve wanted to write and publish a book, perhaps a collection of vignettes. I want to continue getting better and better at playing the violin until I’m back to virtuoso level again, and even then I won’t stop there. I know I’m ripping this off from somewhere, but life is about the constant improvement of oneself. Is it so hard to try? Is it really so hard to get back up if you fall? Believe me, I’ve taken epic tumbles. And I mean epic. We won’t get into those…for now, at least. The point is: I’m still here. And I think it’s time I formally introduce myself to the world and make sure I leave one hell of a footprint.
With my favorite stilettos, of course... (Manolo Blahnik black patent leather Mary Janes, courtesy of my wonderful boyfriend, Kevin)
