I'm a creature of habit and comfort. I live squarely in my comfort zone, hesitant to take risks solely because I'm afraid of them. I fear the unknown as much as I fear change.
This has worked for me -- this comfortable life. In fact, I very much love life. But something has shifted in me in the last year. I've started to love me. I've begun to realize that the things I want for myself, I can have. Maybe I can't have them all, and maybe I can't have them right away, but I can try.
I am worth that.
I took a risk a year ago, and gave a new job a shot. A scary new job, away from the people I'd called family for three years. The job has pushed me well outside my comfort zone, but it's taught me independence. I've traveled across the country, I've explored, and I've grown.
Over the summer I took a leap and committed to raising ten thousand dollars for multiple sclerosis research, and with that, running 165 miles from Utah to Colorado in six days. That venture is, by far, the most intimidating. But I've experienced more love and support in three months of fundraising than I could have ever imagined.
I can do this.
I've spent a lot of time with myself in 33 years. I haven't always liked me, and I haven't always made the best decisions, or good decisions, for that matter. But I sure have learned a lot about me. I know who I am and what I want and, most importantly, how to be happy.
The flip side of that means wrestling with big decisions and making changes to my life that were unheard of a year ago. Scary changes that uproot my habits and my normal. Sort of like taking a perfectly organized deck of cards and tossing them into the air to see where they land.
And I don't know about you guys, but I'm incredibly neurotic and hate messes.
Yet here we are.
But I know where they're going to fall once I get to the other side. They will fall in Bend, Oregon.
And I will pick the cards back up when I get there and put them where they belong.