Other side of fear.

At some point in my life, I read or heard someone say everything you really want is on the other side of fear. I’ve been picturing it as this giant wall ever since. For some people their wall is a chain link fence, for some it’s more of a pile of rocks. For me it was cinder blocks. Cemented together. Stacked taller than most buildings. Basically impenetrable.

I know I don’t necessarily come off as afraid. I don’t hide under a bed when someone knocks at the door, or run away when I hear a loud noise. But I do cut myself off at the knees basically every time I get the chance. I’m not afraid of external things, but what would happen if I let myself actually live my life the way I wanted. We don’t need to get into why. That’s what I pay my therapist for. But the action was making me short. Foot and shinless and standing next to a big ass wall.

The only reason I’m doing this trip is because my mom didn’t let me back out. People have started referring to my plans as whims or schemes, because I don’t follow through with them. This time though, when I went to change my mind and tell my mom the list of reasons why it wasn’t a good idea anymore (even though it was a decent idea the night before) she stopped me. And told me “I think you’ll really regret it if you don’t do this”. So I operated in a semi-blind panic for the next three months while I saved enough money, talked to work, told my landlord (and roommates), consolidated and packed my things, said goodbye to everyone I know and care about, held my breath, swallowed my anti-depressants, and basically didn’t blink for 90 days so I wouldn’t screw anything up. There is only one thing that makes me more nervous than my own whims, and that’s disappointing my mom.

Which is how I came to be here. Writing to you. From a creepy, awesome, terrifying and incredible split shotgun in the seventh ward of New Orleans. And you know what? I’m not scared. I’m not on the other side of the wall. I’m not even sure if there was a wall to begin with. Fifteen minutes after driving away for the last time, I started smiling. And saying “yes” over and over and over. And everywhere I’ve gone so far, driving through sunsets and storms in Arizona, stopping to take a picture with a cactus and some aliens in New Mexico, falling so far past in love with Texas Hill Country, pulling up outside of this delightfully weird house in Louisiana, I just kept smiling and feeling the yes.

Driving from Texas to Louisiana meant driving through marshes, lakes, rivers and streams. Which meant a lot of bridges. For reasons I can’t explain, bridges are my biggest fear. Hate seeing them, being on them, being near them, hearing about them, all of it. My head gets swimmy just thinking about needing to drive a motor vehicle up over a bridge. No thank you. BUT. I had to take nothing but bridges for almost two hours today. Call it desensitization, or call it literally the only option available to me if I wanted to see some willow trees, but I wasn’t afraid. Well, I was a little afraid. But not enough to change my mind.

So far, nothing has been enough to make me change my mind. And I don’t want to. I want to be brave. I want to know that even if I’m afraid of something that doesn’t mean I’m allowed to make myself small. Especially if the only wall that’s in between me and what I want most out of life is one I put there.