Let’s talk about fear, and dreams. They’re both intimately linked after all. No really they are, think about it. You’re wandering semi-randomly through life, sort of happy with your lot. But as you bounce from day-to-day you run into someone who holds in their hands the ability to alter your life in a profound way. They turn around, and offer you your dream house/job/date.
First you get hit by a wave of excitement, “Oh my Gods! This could be so amazing!”
Then you get a good dose of the old-fashioned self-doubts, “Nope, no way I can do this. I mean come on, who am I kidding? Me, move into the Horror Channels mansion (In my imagination it’s based in a mansion. A mansion where all the Horror girls live together in a huge, and hot group of bisexual femme-subs.) as the Horror girl’s Mistress, with Emily Booth as my Alpha? I’m just not that good.”
Then you get hit by the fears, “Oh hell, what if I do get the job as Bee Armitage’s personal baby oil applicator? I’ll just make a fool of myself, and let everyone down, and ruin my future.”
Dreams that are in the process of becoming reality are scary. I know this with certainty. I am right at this moment in the process of living one. After almost 11 years of living in apartments I am finally going to live in a house again. No neighbours upstairs, no neighbours downstairs, plenty of space, plenty of storage, no management companies, and best of all an honest to Goddesses upstairs! I’ve wanted a place like that for as long as I can remember. And now that the move is well underway, in fact at this point it’s essentially irreversible, and despite the fact that this new home will be very good for me, I’m actually rather scared.
I’m not scared of the hard work involved in moving, a large part of it is already done, and it’s now more about unpacking boxes rather than moving them.
I’m also not gripped by that fear of moving to another new town that I know nothing about. I’ve done that way too many times to find it fear inducing anymore.
No I’m actually scared by how potentially good for me this new home can be. Because it can be taken away. Because in my imagination it could possibly all blow up in my face, and turn from a dream into a nightmare.
It won’t though, and I have to keep reminding myself of that this is the right thing to do. ‘Cause quite simply the fact that it can actually inspire precisely that type of fear shows that it is the right action to take. Doing the right thing for ourselves is virtually always scary to some degree, how could it not be when it seems that a happiness which could be taken away is more painful than having never felt that happiness at all.
Except that’s bollocks, paying too much heed to your fears is a stupid reason not to take fate by the balls, and shake a little happiness out of the world for yourself. Even if that happiness should prove somewhat fleeting.
