When I was a kid, I had all the unrealistic expectations you would expect a child to have. As I became a teenager, I had a couple of lofty ambitions. I expected I would become a journalist, the next Woodward/Bernstein, or I would work for Rolling Stone or Time magazine – travel the world and see the sights and hear the sounds the world has to offer. But I grew older and I settled for less and I settled down. I got used to routine and the day-in/day-out became comfortable.
I never stopped to wonder why.
The time has come to take everything I have known and disenfranchise myself from my hometown and take on “new adventures.” It’s harder when we get older. Even though I remind myself I’m not old, right now – this very moment – I feel old. And afraid.
There. I said it. I’m afraid of starting completely over.
I’m afraid of moving to a new place that’s not so comfortable. This town is like a well-worn pair of jeans. But I’m scared to see if that pair of jeans is just hanging on by a thread and if my underwear is starting to show.
I’m afraid of trying to find a new job.
I’m afraid of not finding a job.
I’m afraid of looking for a new place to live.
I’m afraid of homelessness.
I’m afraid of finding new doctors because mine know me so well.
I’m afraid of not finding doctors that have a clue.
I’m afraid of driving in a place I know nothing about that has a crap-ton more traffic.
I’m afraid of getting into an accident.
I’m afraid of not fitting in.
I’m afraid of people not understanding my warped sense of humor.
I’m afraid of being “alone” in a place with thousands of people.
I’m afraid of wanting to come running “home” and home just not being home anymore.
I never thought that my fearless teenage self would be sitting in front of a computer at middle age afraid to embrace change. But there it is in stark black and white. Simple and honest.