Several yeas ago, my then 8-year-old daughter, gave me a journal with the words “Be Fearless” on the cover. It was a small, pleather bound, blue book, embossed with two little words and it was the sweetest gift from her precious heart. She handed it to me with a smile, as I told her how special it was that she saw it and thought of me. I was touched by the gift and wanted to be sure she knew it.
The empty journal represented so much potential! As my dad would say, “I have a handful of life’s heaviest burden…potential” LOL! I giggle every time he says that when we play cards on Sunday nights. A new journal really is a tabula rosa, the great blank slate, of possibilities. I immediately got so excited about the life changing stories and advice I would pour into this little pleather tome, and then regift to my grown daughter on the day she launches into the world, on her own. Wow, what a beautiful idea. Sadly, this tale of a mother’s love for her child, is not likely to happen. Here’s why.
Be fearless. The idea of being fearless is so far from my comprehension, that my internal response to this simple gift is the Dr. Jekyll to her thoughtful, Mr. Hyde. Almost immediately after the bliss of possibilities passes, the nagging voice of doubt, responsibility, and righteousness, started forcing its way in and began blurting out perpetual poppycock in my brain, ruining that sweet moment. Be fearless, ha! I am THE MOST fearful person around, as made evident by all of my life actions…well, inactions, as it were.
Perpetual poppycock is a mess of thoughts that junk up my brain, hindering me from enjoying sweet moments, making decisions, having opinions, finding conviction in who I am, etc., etc. etc. It’s exhausting. Sometimes, the perpetual poppycock thought storm can be helpful but generally speaking, it sparks from fear of some kind or another. The thoughts swirl involuntarily and it forces me to deep dive introspectively, often and without end. A lot of the time, it leads to greater compassion, empathy and acceptance of other perspectives. I value this part of the process. But most of the time, it paralyses me with thoughts that lead to confusion and mistrust of myself. In practicum, the thoughts stall actions, so I stay put.
That little blue book, given to me in love, has remained shut in my nightstand drawer for years now. Not one word has been written in it. The reason is so unbelievably annoying that it pains me to type it even now, but simply put, I don’t know what to write in it and I’m afraid of starting on one topic and then having to change to another, thereby messing up the entire theme of “Be Fearless”. Seriously. Thats so dumb. But its what my brain tells me is true.
This is one of the most obnoxious parts of my pretty annoying personality, and I am really trying to get a handle on it. I see the journal every day, when I get dressed and I am flushed with excitement followed by guilt and eventually shame, for not having written one single word in the years that have passed. I mean, what the actual, hell? I’m wasting precious time!
One of the problems I’m having with starting the journal is just being worried it won’t be as good as I’d like. What if my musings are crap? What if I don’t have any helpful advice or guidance for my kid? I’ve pretty much stumbled my way through life – who on earth should listen to me?
I have these beautiful visions of what other people could do with this journal and how it would be so impactful in the future and then the stark contrast of what it would probably end up being if I attempted to fill it with wisdom. A witless, scribble of words, about nothing notable.
Today is going to break the streak. I’ve decided to do my best to ignore the perpetual poppycock thats held me hostage from writing in the journal and add one note each day that sums up the hours between dawn and dusk. I’m going to write it as a letter to both my children. It will be, whatever it will be. I am making peace with the excuse that it won’t be great, or inspiring. It will just be a love letter to my kids about a moment in the life of our family. Maybe we can laugh at it one day.
To my kids, with love.
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