I wish I were braver.
(Subjunctive tense. I am a grammar genius. Count it. Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh yeah. About how I am avoiding this topic. Wait no, that wasn't it, was it?)
(Sigh, let's start again, shall we?)
Last week, I walked to a metro station in Maryland, got on a subway with my baby in her stroller and took her to the zoo. And I did it all by myself. Cue applause.
Only ... not. Because that's ridiculous. Because it's ridiculous for that to be a big deal. Because it's really not hard to get on a train. Because it's even less hard to go to the grocery store, to pick up a phone and call someone, to drive a few blocks out of your way to get a cupcake you really want.
Except these things terrify me.
Yael wrote a post a while ago about our comfort zones. About how stepping out of them is overrated. About how we need to take care of ourselves and that makes it okay to stay in.
But I've stayed in my comfort zone my whole life. And I'm not very comfortable here.
Lately it seems like all the bloggers I admire most are saying, "If blogging feels hard, if you feel the pressure from it, if you can't write every day, then let it go. Write less. Let go of the guilt." And I read it and think "Oh good, I'm off the hook."
Except I don't want to be off the hook.
I want the pressure. Because otherwise I won't do it.
Because I need it to be scary. I need to be scared. I need to do it anyway.
Because the zoo? Was lovely. And the train? Was just a train.