It’s already past mid-April and I’m two short months away from my 31st birthday. That number frightens me. Not because I’m worried about turning 31; it’s a fine prime number, after all. Rather, it’s because I set a goal for myself to get this photography business off the ground while I am 30 and, as you see, 5/6ths of that allotted time has gone and I haven’t launched it yet. And time just disappears. Poof. Never to return.
It’s funny how often I enjoy thinking about all the adventures I am to have and the risks I am to take. And then I look back and say, well, what happened? I love telling people to take chances and to feel empowered because, ultimately, they are in control over their own lives and choices and this way, when they are old and dying they won’t say, “I wish.”
And yet, here I am, stuck myself. It’s just so easy to fall into and rest in the same old routine. It feels safe. Safe and claustrophobic.
Many times I get this tension in my chest: my heart starts racing and I get nervous. I imagine it’s my spunky little spirit (she’s still there somewhere) that is jumping inside, yelling at me to shake free of this net and get out there. It’s time. It’s time. It’s time.
Little boys love working with their hands.
So, here’s to getting out there. It’s time to set the fire under my own butt, because I don’t ever want to say “I wish.”