Maybe, Just Maybe

This isn't a post about Dad. It's not even really a post about grief. But I don't think it would be possible without everything I've been through the past six months. Instead, it's a post about that frustrating moment when you realize you are fed up with your own approach to life. When you think, "Wow, I have been an idiot for a long time." When you think, "I can't even remember when I decided this was right, and why!" When you think, "I have been so afraid for such a long time, I don't know what it would feel like to be brave."

It's frustrating, but also liberating.

So here goes:

Hello my name is Jessica, and I am an addict. (Don't worry, it's not drugs.)

I am addicted to control. For as long as I can remember, I've tried to exert control over the circumstances around me, to shape my world into understandable and comforting patterns. I loved school because it made so much sense: work hard and you will do well. Nothing was ever unexpected, nothing was ever out of my control. Learning made me feel that I was gaining more of a handle on the world around me.I didn't have to be so afraid.

It's not change that I dread; I dread uncertainty. What will this change bring? When will I know? How will I deal with it? What if I make a mistake?

It's always been a problem. When I was ten, my family went on that fateful mission trip to Argentina. As a result of the stresses of travel, my sister suffered two Grand Mal seizures that first day, and my brother also had a seizure. It was (at that point and for many years after) the scariest day of my life. I was tired and jet-lagged and absolutely terrified for my family. I remember: we were at some missionary's house in an unknown city, and I watched my parents crying over their sick children. I thought, with a ten-year-old's mistaken logic, that if I started crying too, my entire family would fall apart. Game over, we're done. My world, kaput. But if I didn't cry, I reasoned, we'd be okay.

And I didn't.

Even now, when things get out of my control, I get really anxious. Missing a bus in a foreign country, sickness in a family member, unknown social situations...First dates and all the maybes and I don't know yets that go along with them. I feel either very frustrated that I can't fix things, or totally set adrift by uncertainty and indecision. Obviously, those feelings suck, so I have carefully crafted my life to avoid them.

Yet finally, at 23, I realize that I have only been hurting myself. I wasn't being smart, I was closing myself off from new experiences and relationships because I didn't know where they would lead. Losing Dad forced me to function without that control. I learned how good it can be to rely on other people. I learned that I can't control everything, and also that I don't really want to anymore.

All this to say is that I've been trying to act differently lately. To take chances and say what I want without considering all sixteen different outcomes first. To figure things out as they happen, without maps or notes or plans. Because I've realized that I almost always decide the risk isn't worth it. At some point, being discerning turned into being defeatist. It'll never work out, he doesn't actually like me, I'll get annoyed and break his heart. I don't know those people, I won't know where I'm going, I won't get accepted. It's just better not to bother. 
 
But.

Maybe, just maybe, I can change. Maybe, just maybe, I can act despite my fears. I can let myself be unsure and make mistakes and grow from them. I'm sick of having regret not for the things I've done, but for the things I've not done.

I was sitting outside Starbucks today, enjoying the sunshine and my coffee before work. I was reading Rainer Maria Rilke, my favorite poet, and I came across an incredibly beautiful poem. Normally I would be perfectly happy in that moment, but today I had a fleeting thought: I wish I could be sharing this moment with someone. As I sat there, I realized that maybe, just maybe, it's not enough anymore.