I might have mentioned- I started a podcast. I’m pretty darn proud of it. I’m proud that I built this website. I’m proud that I’m sitting here writing this right now. I’m not exactly proud of the ridiculous amount of netflix I’ve watched this week, or the anxious checking of instagram after every time I post, but they’re just coping mechanisms. Because I am, honestly, truly, madly, deeply terrified.
What am I terrified of, exactly? Well, good question. Sometimes I walk around with a teaspoon of anxiety and an olympic sized swimming pool of confidence, and sometimes they switch, and I’m stuck with just a teaspoon of confidence and about 500 million teaspoons of anxiety (I actually looked it up, that is about how many teaspoons of water it takes to fill an olympic size swimming pool.)
We went up the canyon to take some pictures a few nights ago (because, if you haven’t noticed, this website if full of pictures of me) and it hit me- why do so many of my insecurities and fears come from what other people might think of me? When I think about it logically, I don’t give a d*rn what you think about me, I’m awesome no matter what you think. Good news: nobody congregates on Friday nights and talk about everything that is wrong with me. And, if they ever did, I would kind of be flattered that I’m on their mind that much.
Maybe this is rambley, but the truth is: I think that what I’m doing is good. It’s not my problem if people disagree. In all honesty, I am utterly terrified, but I’m doing this anyway.