*During my freshman year of high school, I wanted very much to be on the school’s softball team. The morning of that first day of practice, I stuffed my mitt and clothes into my locker. But by the end of the day, I’d convinced myself that I’d never make the team. So I didn’t even attend the first practice.

*At 18, I wanted to go to Mizzou to study journalism. But I was too scared I wouldn’t be able to afford out-of-state tuition and living expenses. So I went to a college I wasn’t interested in because it was cheap and close to home.

*During that time, I landed a job where the boss made my life miserable. But instead of leaving, I endured the verbal jabs and soul-sucking games. I was miserable but too frightened to take a risk and change jobs.

*Since high school, I dreamed of becoming a television news reporter. But I knew the competition was fierce. I was too scared I’d be rejected — that I wasn’t talented, intelligent, or attractive enough. So I didn’t even attempt to ask about an internship.

*I’ve even stayed in long-term relationships that weren’t very happy or healthy purely because I was too scared no one else would want me. (I know! How pathetic! But I’m going somewhere with this. Promise!)

After graduating college, I got my first “big girl job”, then broke off an unhappy relationship. I was alone for the first time in four years and so terrified. I was navigating through an unfamiliar city and living in an apartment complex that contained more people than my entire high school. I was working for a company that employed more people than inhabited my hometown. For an insecure girl with a humble, working-class upbringing, the whole experience was overwhelming and scary. It took about a year of me working there to feel comfortable. But once I did, it was exhilarating, fulfilling and very enjoyable.

With that experience under my belt, I took a few more risks. One big risk didn’t pan out so well. And not only did it drain our marriage and finances, but it drained my feelings of confidence and competence.

Overall, I thought I’d left alot of that fear-driven, decision making behind me. But as I look at my life, I realize I’ve deluded myself. The painful, ugly truth is that I’ve been too scared of rejection and failure to seize opportunities. I’ve even censored myself in this blog. I haven’t written about some of the more painful, personal experiences because I worry about who will find what I’ve written. I worry I will shame my parents and siblings. I worry you all will form a negative impression of me. I am fearful of angering someone. But if I’m not “showing” you the real me, then you might as well be reading the words of a complete fraud. And that’s just a waste of everyone’s time, isn’t it? Plus? I’ve cheated myself out of what could have been some really great experiences all because I am a giant wussy who’s scared of almost everything but her own shadow.

I kept hoping that one day I’d awaken with courage and confidence. But I’ve come to realize that’s an absurd idea. The only way I will aquire courage and confidence is if I force myself to take more risks – in blogging and in life. I am 34 years old. I’ve wasted enough time cowering in a corner. Its time to “grow a pair.”

But the biggest motivation behind this is my son. I don’t want him to make the same mistakes I’ve made. I don’t want him to see his mother as a woman steeped in fear. Life is a gift. And a life lived in this sort of fear is a life squandered. It is potential that can never be reached. It is a bloom that will never open.

That’s not the kind of life I want to lead. And though I can’t change the past, I can change the present. There is a wealth of opportunity in this world that’s up for grabs. And instead of shuffling off with my head hung, I’m going to run full steam ahead.

Was the ever a time where you took a big risk and failed? How did you deal with it? Did it affect the way you saw yourself? Basically what did you learn from these experiences? Please share!

P.S. There’s a new show currently broadcasted on several PBS stations called The Zula Patrol. Its a super cute show. To find out why The Zula Patrol goes where no show has gone before, click here. (This is a PBN review.)

For years, I swore that on Seth’s first day of kindergarten? You’d find me waiting with him at the bus stop doing a happy dance while drinking margaritas.

As I drove him to school on that first day, I was actually pretty teary-eyed. I left my sunglasses on while inside the school because I’d rather the staff and his teacher think I’m a vampire than know the truth — that I was a sniffling, quivering mess of snot. After dropping him off, I cried then decided I needed ice cream. And lots of it. Yes, ice cream does indeed make everything better. 

Other moms who dropped their kids off didn’t seem to have the waterworks problem. I envied them. So calm. So together. So not red-faced as mascara made tracks down their cheeks.

Seth was ready to let go. He’s been begging to go to kindergarten for two years now. He’s a social little man and is very eager to find his place in his little society. Its just that his mama wasn’t nearly as ready.

But I’m over it now. He’s having fun. He’s learning. For three hours a day, he drives his teacher crazy — not me. (Fifteen hours a week of quiet time! I guess I no longer have an excuse for the mold growing in the master bath’s shower… Course with 15 hours of weekly free time, I could figure out how to turn that junk into penicillin, package it, then develop a marketing campaign. Hmmmm.)

The only question that remains? When will “Tweed” make an appearance in school? Or the on the bus? It will happen soon no doubt. (Shudder.)

But this week has found me thinking an awful lot about some other moms with kiddos entering kindergarten. Hopefully  they’ll post their stories as well. Any more moms with kindergartners? Let me know, I want to lick you! Wait, uh, LINK you!) 

Are you t’ard of them ornery critters getting away from you while you’re trying to “hook-up” with that “carnie” at the swap meet or when you’re at the neighbors’ trailer buying your crystal meth? Have we got the product for you! This here is whut we like to call the “Critter Keeper 2000.”

And look! You can even “steer” them in the direction you want to go. So if you want to hide them while talking to baby-daddy #1&3″ (Cause DAMN! He’s lookin’ pretty good since he got d’em brown teef pulled) you can!

And it comes off fairly easily — you know,  so the critter can git ‘cha another beer or swat flies.

Call now and git two fer the price of one! Operators er standin’ by.

(No “critters” were harmed in this display. In fact, “the boy” seems to thrive on us messing with him in this way. Hey, you may call it “antagonizing”. We call it “attention.”)

(Dear DCFS — I joke about this because it is SO VERY, VERY FAR from the realm of my family’s suburban, white bread world. But in all honesty? He DOES thrive on the hasslin’!)

I grew up in a small town in Illinois. And when I got out of college, thus began my  fancy-schmancy, “big city” job in St. Louis. For months, I commuted. Every day, I sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic on a bridge that connects my home state to Missouri. Every day I would feel my anxiety mount as I ebbed further toward the middle of that bridge. With all of those people ahead and behind me, I was stuck.

 “What if this bridge were to collapse? What if it were to fall into the Mississippi River right now? Would I be able to get my window down in time? Would I have the where-with-all to crawl out? Or would I helplessly sink?”

As I made my way toward the end of the bridge, closer to the shores, I would breathe a sigh of relief.

I moved to the Missouri side of that bridge as soon as I could.

Now my travels across the river aren’t nearly as frequent. But often, especially when I’m stuck in heavy bridge traffic, I feel my heartbeat quicken. My anxiety level rises even higher than it used to. I now transport precious cargo across that bridge. While on that bridge, I can’t help but wonder…

“If this bridge were to collapse, would I have enough time to lower the window? Would I have enough time to unlock Seth’s seatbelt and free him from his carseat? If I was free and had a way out, but my son didn’t, would I stay with him until he was freed? Even if it meant death? Or would I panic and leave him trapped, desperate to fill my lungs with air? What if I had a second child? What if I had to choose which one to save?”

Usually I can “shut off” that thinking, once I’m safely across. But those scenarios have kept replaying in my brain ever since I’ve heard about this.

To the victims and their families… I am so very, very sorry. My heart aches for you.

I think I may need some sort of (strong) anti-anxiety medicine the next time I cross a bridge. I’m sure I won’t be the only one.