In 12 days, my life changes forever.
And I am not sure that I am particularly ready to accept that fact.
I believe that I am still 80% in denial about this entire affair. 23 years spent tentatively peeking out of the darkness from within a self-imposed hermit’s shell will often cause a calamity such as this one.
I am moving to my first apartment in 12 days, and I could not be happier.
I am moving to my first apartment in 12 days, and I could not be more afraid.
The sensible part of me likes to excuse these feelings, citing worries about money or transportation. I don’t think that part of me is sensible at all. I think the truly sensible part of me is the part that is screaming inside the confines of my mind, beaten down and hidden away from everyone around, yet sounding louder than ever: “YOU’RE AFRAID OF CHANGE. YOU’RE AFRAID OF AN ENTIRELY FOREIGN EXPERIENCE. YOU’RE ALLOWING YOUR ANXIETY TO GET IN THE WAY OF YOUR NEEDS, AGAIN.”
Upon this realization, it’s suddenly apparent to me that the excuses I keep making for myself, for not wanting to ride the bus to work, for not wanting to walk to work, for needing everything JUST PERFECT or it can’t happen at all… They’re all just a facade for what’s really bubbling underneath: the sheer paranoia, the absolute fear of a new beginning.
This phoenix has never wanted as much to be reborn and fly away as she does now.
But this bird’s wings will continue to be clipped until she can learn not to be so afraid of taking flight.
In 12 days, this little birdie will be pushed from the nest. Will I remain adrift on the wind or will I sink into the invitingly soft, familiar grass?