One of Each
I have been on a thrilling journey of facing fears and embracing the possibility of achieving long-held dreams. I say fears because I am currently pursuing goals that emanate from deep within my soul and when a thing matters this much, the risk feels impossible to fathom. And this is the recurring battle in my mind and my body.
Starting my own business based in sharing practices that have evolved my own sense of self and being means I am constantly meeting that imagined wall of failure, rejection, and fear while also seeing the brilliance, joy, and intense thrill waiting for me on the other side. Each time I receive a “yes” in response to my efforts—a gratitude-filled message about a workshop I hosted or an expression of appreciation for a Substack post—I also meet the scared, disbelieving part of myself intent on protection and safety, even if that means shutting down any potential joy, connection, and accomplishment. Overwhelm and Distraction team up to flood my mind with warning messages about the million other tiny tasks littering my to-do list. Denial blurs the picture I have of myself so much so that I can’t even recall any previous achievements. Old narratives and conditioned responses kick in and come to my “aid,” hoping I’ll just slowly and safely back away from my heart’s deepest desires.
Recently, when a colleague of mine invited me to co-lead a segment of her workshop and I was faced with that familiar concoction of excitement laced with intense dread, a memory rose up from my unconscious and flooded my body in a tingling rush of energy.
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I was getting ready to meet my friends at the mall and feeling really excited about the potentially fabulous new outfit I had assembled. I started with a bold red tank top, embellished with tiny silver hearts and then slipped over that a crisp white oversized button-up blouse. I cinched everything at the waist with an extra-wide white belt with a heart-shaped silver buckle. The bottom of the blouse flowed down over a buttery yellow knit pencil skirt with slits up each side. All that was left to decide was which pair of the same pointy faux-leather flats would do the trick: red or yellow?
I slipped on the red pair and loved the playful echo of the snippet of red from the tank top. I tried on the yellow pair and really loved the color blocking effect on the bottom half of my body, broken up only by the white and red on the top half. Which color shoes to choose?
Wearing the yellow pair, I scooped up the red pair and went in search of my mom. She was working on the puzzle that had been slowly spreading across the dining room table over the past three weeks. I slunk into my best model pose, and asked “Which ones, Mom?”
She dropped the puzzle pieces between her fingers, turned, and gave me her full attention. She looked very serious and deep in thought, watching me romp around the room, alternately modeling each pair.
“Why don’t you wear one of each?”
I froze, dumbfounded. Of course, that’s the answer! That would create the dreamiest color balance ever! It would be . . . wait a minute! What the heck was I thinking? Was I seriously contemplating wearing two different color shoes? What would people say? Would they think I was insane?Wait, maybe I could I pull this off?
My mom cheered me on as if she caught that last thought, “Yes, Chickadee! You can do it! Go for it!” Her hands were raised in the air, and her face was as flushed and excited as if she were cheering me across a finish line.
A huge swell of nervous energy gathered in my chest, ran the length of my arms, and tingled down into my fingers so intensely I had to scratch the inside of my palms to manage it. Could I really do this? Maybe I’ll be the talk of the school? Maybe it will start an entirely new trend? Maybe Christie and Kendra will wish they had thought of it? Maybe everyone will think I am just the coolest, most bad-ass chic ever to even attempt such a thing??!!
Slipping my right foot out of a red shoe and into a yellow one, I felt like a wild horse running free on a beach for the first time. The thrilling zing of excitement moved across my shoulders and up all over my scalp. I squealed and laughed far too hard, folding my torso over my body to hide my outfit out of embarrassment—it was just too much to even imagine!!
Dread descended again and old, mocking defenses rushed in to protect me from the onslaught of all this silly excitement. I straightened up, stomped around the kitchen like a big, dumb oaf and all my fears tumbled out in a fit of exasperation.
“Mom!!! This looks soooo stupid! No way I can do this! People will think I am soooooo dumb, that I put on the wrong shoe or something! Ugh!!! Are you trying to make me lose ALL my friends? Do you want people to laugh at me?”
She wasn’t ruffled in the least. “They will think you’re fashionable, Chickadee. Come on, be brave. They’re just shoes.”
Her confident, matter-of-fact jabs of common sense stunted my tantrum and nudged me dangerously back onto the ledge of “maybe?”
It all felt so exciting. So darn thrilling. So groundbreaking! Could I really do this? Maybe I’ll just wear one pair and bring the other in my purse just in case? I looked back at mom for more answers, but she had the most curious smile on her face. “Wait a minute! Are you messing with me? Ugh, I knew it! Mom!!”
“Chickadee, I am not messing with you. Really. I just think you care way too much about what your friends think. And really, who cares what you wear? If you like it, then wear it!”
“But Mom!!! No one wears two different pairs of shoes at the same time!”
“That’s why it’s so cool—you’ll be the first!”
“Mom!”
“Chickadee!”
I huffed the frustration out through my windpipe and stomped back down the hall to my room. I threw the shoes in my hand into the closet and then kicked off their stupid mismatched mates, one so hard it ripped into my Prince poster. I knew it was dumb to be this afraid; I was so annoyed that mom was right.
I peeled off the entire outfit, dropping the clothes into the pile of all the other dumb clothes on the floor. I stuffed myself into my old standby outfit of a white tunic with silver buttons and white jeans covered with fuchsia, teal, and yellow flowers. I jammed my feet into my boring old silver faux leather penny loafers and then flopped back onto my even more clothes-covered bed. I felt numb again. Nothing. No excitement, no nervous anticipation, just blah. Why is this so hard? I could have been a trendsetter!
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I marveled at the synchronicity of my unconscious gifting me with this reverie on the heels of an offer to work with someone I admired. I was thrilled and overwhelmed with the possibility of this opportunity, the trust she was placing in me, and mostly the feeling that she believed I was up to the challenge. So why shouldn’t I as well? It made me feel 14 years old all over again, excited about being seen, being known, and putting myself out there. I had this moment to do over, and after a long inhale and even longer exhale, I typed a reply to her invitation: “Yes! I’d love to!”
I might as well have typed, “Yes! One of each!!!”