A year ago, I started a journey to renew my life; to renew my values, my principles and renew my purpose. In some cases, if I am thoroughly honest, I was creating them independently for the first time in my life.
In hindsight, I find it quite curious to wonder if the questions I’ve asked this past year were always there, silent, simply waiting for inquiry. Perhaps they were curious, too, if they were ever going to be swung from their hinges.
It’s been a wonderful journey. Of inquiry. Of learning. Of listening. Of rest. Of joy. Of exploring. Of experimenting in new ways of Being.
Why, then, am I so terrified to share anything at all? I’m like a runner who trained for a marathon but bails on race day! A chef who goes on strike only after purchasing all the ingredients for an exquisite dinner! A writer who throws away their favorite pen & paper!
“Fear is the mind-killer,” as Frank Herbert famously wrote. I must not let it kill mine. Stories are powerful. Stories relate experience. By doing so, they grow understanding and connection. Stories change lives.
So I’ve entertained the idea that perhaps starting means starting with just this: I am terrified to start. I don’t want to share a thing. Instead, I’d much prefer my routine of busying about my own life. I could keep this up to the grave! I'd die an unread book. Dead, but safe for having not been read. Nope: starting won’t be a big bang or a catalyzing moment where everything changes. Beginning will be a few simple words: I am scared to start.