John recently did something he has wanted to do for awhile and that I think was amazingly brave. He didn't see it that way, but I certainly did. At the risk of sounding cryptic in order to protect my fear, I need to vent my feelings about a similar situation I find myself to be in. In some sense, what he did and the outcome of that have inspired me to approach my situation head-on. Then my fear kicks in and, as trite as it sounds, it paralyzes me. So much so that I'll stop thinking about what I seek to do entirely because it's almost too much to bear.
The problem is not so much whether I am able to do this particular thing. The problem is that, at least the way I see it, I have to be ready to accept and deal with the outcome, not matter what it may be. I just have to feel the need so strongly that I have no other choice than to just do it and hope for the best, but be okay with the worst. And I'm not. I'm not ready for the worst, should it happen. As it is now, there's still hope and what I dread most is losing that hope. For the time being, it seems that I'd rather not know, although I'm sure this can't last forever. If I know myself well, and I like to think that I do, I'll not be able to stand the unknown any longer.
Only minutes after John was finished, I was ready to try my hand, give it a whirl. But, instead, I wait. Waiting is a difficult decision for me. I am impatient. I crave instant gratification. I prefer to take control rather than sit back and see what happens. Waiting is not something I am especially good at. But the truth of the matter is, I'm just not strong enough yet to deal with all possible outcomes. That has not stopped me from planning my attack for if and when I'm ever ready.
For now, I'm rather content with my cowardly combination of fear and hope.
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