I worry. A lot. It’s not my fault, really. It’s in my genes. When it comes to anxiety, my family has the market cornered. If you ever need someone to worry about the sun coming up tomorrow, give me a ring… or my dad, aunt, mom or grandmother. You get the idea.
It started early on. Whenever my doctor’s appointment required an immunization, my mom told me on the way. I would instantly begin to cry, and continued to wail through our stay in the waiting room, the nurse’s examination, and until that big scary needle was in my arm. Ironically, it was then that I stopped crying. My mom asked me why I cried before the shot, but not during, and then didn’t make a peep after.
“I was worried it would hurt worse than it did,” I told her.
The fear of the unknown and I had another encounter this weekend. I wanted to get my lip pierced. I daydreamed of a cute little stud on the bottom side of my mouth. So, like I do, I talked my husband’s ear off about it and how fabulous it’d be and “Oh honey, wouldn’t that just be darling?!” “Yes dear,” he’d say throughout the conversation, like any good husband would. On Friday, he was off work, and made a proposal.
“Hey sweetheart, how about we get that lip pierced — what do you say?”
And yes, we always talk like a couple straight from the ’50s, even when discussing body piercing. Of course I said yes!
However, after filling out my paper work and sitting in the parlor waiting to be called in, it started happening. That fear thing. I started shivering. I looked to Scot and said, “Maybe this is a bad idea. What if the baby tries to grab it?”
He gave me a sympathetic smile and said, “Theresa, you are not walking out of here without a hole in your lip, got it?”
We had arranged for a babysitter to come watch our girls that night so we could get out for a much needed date. We were going to our favorite bar, and I was pretty stoked about it.
The girl who was going to pierce my lip came out and went over some rules, suggestions, etc. Well wouldn’t you know it, they “strongly recommend” no alcohol for three to five days afterward.
Now, not to give the wrong impression: I’m no alcoholic. But if I have a babysitter, a designated driver, and plans to go to the bar, you better believe I’m going to get legitimately smashed. I looked longingly at Scot, hoping he’d give me that coveted “go home free” pass that I was looking for. No dice.
So, I did what I came to do. I got my lip pierced. And you know what? It wasn’t that bad! Beyond that, I even drank that night and nobody died.
How often do we worry about what could be, may be, might be, and let it hold us back from what we want? How often does fear keep us from enjoying life? For me, the answer is “far too often.” So let’s raise our glasses and make a toast.
Screw you fear! Here’s to a life of freedom!