My Quirks: I love bright colors, gardening, sparkly things, playing guitar and reading books. I like either very hot or very cold, coffee-flavored coffee. I believe in the power of eating vegetables. I have issues with closing lids. I am not afraid of rats or snakes. I am competitive to a flaw. I think feet are weird. I love to make a joyful noise. I think big dogs are awesome, but I love kitty cats the most of all. I am philosophically opposed to umbrellas because I think that feeling rain on one’s face is a spiritual necessity that should not be forsaken, and also; it’s just water. I have an irrational fear of team mascots, or any costume that doesn’t allow me to see the eyes of the wearer. I am shy to the point of social ineptitude. I don’t like to talk on the phone, and avoid it if possible. Wind makes me angry.
My Fear: When I was invited to participate in The COFFEE Project, I am embarrassed to say that for me it was more about narrowing down which fear I wanted to face the most. I am afraid of heights. I am afraid to ride a roller coaster. And as I mentioned above, I am afraid of people dressed as large cartoon characters, talking to strangers, and the phone. I’m kind of a mess. But the biggest fear in my life right now, the one causing me the most profound irritation is a whopper: the fear of failure.
I spent my pre-child years bravely chasing after my dream of being a musician. Now that I am a mother, I am trying to find a new outlet through which the creative part of me might emerge, and the one I keep coming back to is writing. I have loved writing my entire life. I have often been told by friends and teachers that I should be a writer (whatever the vague definition of that career might entail). I remember writing constantly throughout my youth. But I put it aside for music as I got older, or perhaps channeled it into the realm of song lyrics.
Now that I have a child, playing late night gigs in bars is no longer an option, and I’d like a quieter creative outlet like writing. I even have a decent book idea, but can’t seem to find the extreme motivation I used to possess. I think that fear of failure (i.e. insecurity) combined with a major lack of self-discipline is what may be keeping me from writing on a regular basis. So I am going to put on my big cowgirl pants, grab my fear by the horns, and figure out how get back in touch with the girl who wouldn’t let anything stand in her way. And I’m going to take you along for the ride. You will help by holding me accountable for my actions, and in return, you’ll have the best seat at the rodeo when I finally stay on the bull. (Or some other cowboy-themed metaphor in which I get to wear