Aside from the common fears, like your son’s room is haunted by ghosts who whisper, “Choose video games choose video games,” while he sleeps, here are a few of my personal fears in random order:
- My husband wanting to summit K2 or Everest
- Falling out of shape (I don’t want to list it, but I’d be lying)
- The deep sea because what’s under there??
Forrest has started to express fear and I hate it. His face turns cherry red and he’s shocked and seems to be screaming; “How could you DO this to me? You can’t possibly be my real mom!”
Maybe he’s always felt the instinct. Moro reflexes start in the womb, after all. But, now he can tell me he’s afraid and it’s devastating because a) I know I’m the cause because #momguilt and b) I know whatever has stuck his tiny nerve is just the tip of the iceberg.
Life, sweet son, has a way of getting scarier the more you know.
Our approach is to expose him to as much as possible and break him in by getting him out; out in the water, out on the trails, out with the dogs, out in the elements, where anything can happen.
We’re hoping to extend his comfort zone early because we believe that he’ll be a happier, stronger person for it.
And this made me think: who’s pushing me out of mine? Sure, my tirelessly patient family and friends support me and encourage my whims, but who’s tossing me into the water whetherIlikeitornot? Who’s tugging me toward the unknown and holding me accountable for what I do with what I find?
I know what you’re thinking; it should be me, right? I am not four months old.
But, is it so outlandish to think that maybe we, even as adults, need someone or something or some external force to know what’s best and make us do it?
Not encourage, make.
I don’t mean someone should make me fly through turbulence over the Arctic Ocean in a tank top. What I’m wondering is who or what is holding me accountable for pursuing what I want, even if it scares me?
For example, how am I accountable for actually writing, and worse yet publishing? It’s what I’ve always wanted to do, but I’m so scared of what you’ll think, that you won’t read it, that it would be easier – safer – not to do it.
So, I haven’t.
Until now, and it’s only because someone stepped up to hold me accountable. In my case, it was Forrest, my infant son. True, I’m terrified of this little blog that no one is even reading yet, but I’m more scared of disappointing him. I’m more scared that one day, I’ll urge him to be courageous and he’ll see right through my hypocritical soliloquy.
He’ll ask, “What did you always want to do that you were afraid of, Mom?” and I’ll answer, “Write,” and he’ll say, “Then, why didn’t you ever try?”
I can’t let that happen, so here I am. If you’re reading, thank you. I’m accountable to you now, too.
What is that thing you’ve always wanted to do? Who or what can make sure you do it?