I’m a chicken shit by nature.
God only knows what I could be or could have become had I not spent most of my life afraid of my own flippin’ shadow.
Nine things you don’t know about me. Nine things that scare me shitless. Nine things that have held me back.
My top nine reminders of what could have been…Nine things I would have tried had I had no fear.
I’m afraid of Mice. Damn those beady-eyed SOBs. I could have been a scientist.
Heights make my knees weak. I will never climb a mountain. Never know the thrill of a rollercoaster. Never climb a ladder past the second rung. The spiders in the webs on my ceiling are the real winners.
Merging onto an expressway causes a panic attack. And, so, I’ve never traveled anywhere quickly.
I take the long way. Yep–if I’m going to O’Hare–I’m taking LaGrange Road–until it becomes Manheim Road. Take the kids on a road trip? Forgetaboutit. A road with six lanes that involve cars flying at 80MPH. Nope. No can do. Riding shotgun in the same situation makes my mouth dry…and my palms sweat.
Making a phone call. I seriously have to psych myself out to dial the phone. This includes calls to the cable company to entertain offers of ideas to lower my monthly payments–the doctor to make an appointment–the college housing office to inquire as to why my kid is bunking with a complete d-bag. I was never the mom that initiated the “play date”. My biggest fear is that this might be the reason either one of my kids ends up on a couch in therapy.
Success. I dropped out of piano lessons-made it through four of the ten introductory guitar lessons–I have 105 college credit hours, yet no diploma hangs on my wall–I am pretty certain I hold the record for the most times a tub-a-lub has taken advantage of the “join now-registration is free” over at Weight Watchers.
Failure. Which is probably why I quit every scary thing I try.
Worrying about what other people think. I’m 47 years old and I still sport the same shoulder-length hair style I have since I was twenty-something. Occasionally I crank up the crazy and rip off the knob–throw caution to the wind and throw in some layers here and there. But, yeah. It’s pretty much been a pageboy since the late eighties. My wardrobe is mostly black. Nothing flashy. God forbid attention be drawn.
Social Situations. I hate weddings. I seriously fret over going to family Christmas parties–I’d rather host the whole lot of them–then I can keep myself busy in the kitchen talking to the wine glasses I’m de-spotting. I’ve never been out to dinner with another couple. Sure, I can write a good game…but that’s where my words end. Small talk scares the crap out of me. Word.
Attention. Good or Bad. It really doesn’t matter. Please don’t sing my praises. And-don’t you dare call me out in public. That freaks me out even more.
What is one thing you would try if you had no fear?
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