So many of my favorite and most lovely experiences were rooted in fear: deciding to study abroad for a semester by myself, falling in love, going to college, joining RLK, learning how to be a waitress, moving to NYC. I was scared I wouldn’t make friends. I was scared I wouldn’t have enough money. Scared I wouldn’t be good enough. I was scared of so many freakin’ things, and all for nothing. Because what I got instead was more than I could’ve asked for.
I know in my heart that I want to move out of New York (city AND state) for a while. Not because I hate it here—I’m actually in love with my hometown. Not even because I’m miserable in the city—it’s become so much more bearable (and dare I say comfortable?) than those first few months. I want to move because I want an adventure, to see far-flung corners of the world, to experience the West coast. I don’t want to settle down yet.
But I am scared.
Scared that I won’t make friends or enough money. Scared to leave my family behind. Scared something will happen to them when I’m across the country. Scared my relationship won’t survive. Scared of missing out on memories I won’t be able to get back.
And then I talked to my aunt at our family reunion last weekend. She and my uncle lived in Alaska for three years, yet she still said, “That’s something I regret—not living out west when we were young.” And then I read this on one of my favorite blogs, “If it scares you, do it.” And then one of my friends who I asked to do a Her Story (coming soon!) wrote, “If I have learned anything, it’s that things usually work out the way they are supposed to.”
My fear is getting in the way of what my heart wants. I know if the right thing came along, I could do it… Just not without taking a long look back.