I distinctly remember the first time I drove a stick shift. My parents were thinking about buying me a VW Rabbit, but wanted to make sure I could drive it, so they taught me the basics, took me out on a country road, and guided me along.
I killed it. And not in the "I was so freaking amazing" way. I literally killed the engine so many times, I was afraid I would break the car and we'd be forced to buy it. I cried, my parents caved, and I ended up with a Mercury Grand Marquis named Bessie.
Seven years later, I marry a man who owns a manual pickup. Needless to say, I never drove. After pestering me for months about why I wouldn't even try, I finally admitted to my husband something that is true in all aspects of my life.
If it doesn't come naturally, I won't do it.
I'm a prideful perfectionist. I don't like to lose. I don't play sports because I know I won't win. I'm simply not athletic. Could I be if I tried? Probably. But man, that would take years of trying! I'm not afraid of many things in life, but I am definitely afraid of failure.
But recently (and I'm talking in the last two weeks), I've been thinking about who I need to be. Not just for my husband and my children, but for me. How many things should I be working on that I'm not, all because I'm afraid I'll fail?
I attended a blog conference earlier this year where all the attendees received this necklace.