Running in circles.
In every place I’ve lived since I was fifteen, I’ve had a running route. I remember stretches of each one of them with such detail. Not the logistics of the streets, but the muscle memory of whatever I was going through at the time – my parents divorce, boyfriend breakups, losing my sister. There was always a steep hill or a wind-in-your-face part where I wanted to quit because it doesn’t feel good to feel bad. But no matter how dark my mind was when I started a run, it was always clear and calm by the time I was done.
My least favorite runs have always been on a track – there’s no sense of journey, no starting and ending point, like when you do a loop through a neighborhood. It’s a relentless, monotonous, pragmatic circling. It wasn’t lost on me that I’d chosen to run the track by my house throughout the IVF and adoption process. I couldn’t see the finish line where I’d become a mom – all I could see was another lap of shots and procedures and disappointments. Running that track represented exactly how I felt about moving through life at the time.
When I ran track in high school, I’d spend most of the 800 meter race imagining how I could trip and fall so it’d look real and then I wouldn’t have to finish. It wasn’t just about coming in last, it was also about coming in first. I was as afraid of failure as I was success – and it paralyzed me. The starter would go off and my whole body tensed up – instead of loosening my limbs and letting go, I’d constrict. And then I’d plot my great fall for the next two minutes and ten seconds, never giving myself a chance to see what I could have accomplished if I’d let myself run through the fear.
I find myself back in familiar territory – where the fear of failure and success leave me equally frozen. I’m on the fourth draft of my first Young Adult novel that I’ve been working on for two-and-a-half years. When I’m finished with this draft, it’ll be time to send it out in the hopes of finding an agent. A needle-in-the-haystack process that may or may not actually end with someone taking a chance on me and my story. And then what if someone does like it and it does get published? I’m scared of that, too, because what if readers hate it and I’ll look myself up on Amazon only to find horrible reviews about my writing? See how my mind works.
There’s a great quote a friend reminded me of recently: “Everything you’ve ever wanted is on the other side of fear.” I’ll let you know when I get to the other side.
