On commitment-phobia.

In my not so recent past I have been reminded of what a commitment-phobe I am in a succession of sometimes excruciatingly painful events but, more often than not, simply funny, mostly minor missteps.

I began to read a book about figuring out what it is that I, "want to do with my life." It's called, "I Could Do Anything: If Only I Knew What it Was." which sort of sounds like something I've muttered to myself in frustration a million or so different times. So while it may have been a sort of mantra of mine, it is also a completely amazing book. One that without hesitation looked at me, jabbed me in the shoulder and said, "You're afraid of commitment." I of course gasped with disbelief, even though most of me was simply relieved that someone had caught on (Aside from my mother of course, who has been telling me this since I was fourteen. Love you mom.).

But, what my mom hasn't been telling me since puberty is a way to look my commitment-phobia in the eye and say, "This isn't working for me anymore. No, no...it isn't you...it's me..." This book, however, is telling me such things and so far, so good.

My mission to accept was this: commit to something, anything, for thirty days, and for those thirty days you will immerse yourself in that commitment for thirty minutes. Thirty minutes a day, for thirty days, one thing. A real life commitment. I accepted said mission. Go me.

The commitment, you ask? Writing. Pure, raw, straight from this odd, very usually twisted yet cheesy noggin. Writing. The thing that I enjoy so much, do so little of and am encouraged to do with excitement and love. Writing. This crazy little hobby that scares the kink right into my hair if I think about actually doing something with it. Writing. The easiest thing for me to, hardy har har, write off.

I started December 1, 2008. I have but seven, thirty minute commitments under my belt but feel great that I am actually taking myself seriously with this. Some people take themselves too seriously...perhaps, I don't take myself seriously enough.

And with that commitment I promised myself that I'd tell people about it, that way if the day comes that I say, "Eh...I'll just do two tomorrow..." (and I'm sure this day will come...I am a procrastinator above all else. That sort of makes me wonder if my procrastination and commitment-phobia are innately linked. Don't commit to today, what you can commit to tomorrow...after all, you may change your mind.) that there will be people to call me out.

Along with that I also promised myself that I would share them. Not for some perverted, self-absorbed glory, but because if nothing else scares me more, it's being bad at something I really love. And I love to write. So I'd much rather keep my writings to myself for only me to judge than to have them out in the world for others to potentially see as horrible abominations to the writing world.

Sigh.

So with that I, with a lumping churning in the pit of my stomach, share with you my very first thirty minute commitment to writing...and quite possibly, one of the first real commitments to myself.

*****

Some things are hard to say out loud. Those same things are often the most crucial things to say out loud. Things like:

I love you.
I'm sorry.
Give us another chance.
I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere.

I love you.

I do, and I can't fight it. They're words I've said to you a million times over (Words I'd say to you a million more times.) but now the words don't seem to fit into our conversation. Like somehow time is an issue, and the few moments it takes to say is just too much.

I'm sorry.

I am, for a million different reasons. I'm sorry I didn't love you the way I wanted to love you. Instead of loving you fearlessly, I loved you fearfully. I was so afraid to lose you, to do something wrong that I did just that. I lost you. I'm sorry you don't see how much I love you; how much you love me. I feel it.

Give us another chance.

I will, if you will. Don't wait too long though; life is too short, too precious. But I'm never without you. You're in my laugh, my smile, my tears, my thoughts, my heart. And I know you carry me with you. When my phone rings with you on the other line, I know it's true. I just wonder how long you waited to call.

I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere.

I am, and I will be. Always. I know it's easy to assume I'll slowly drift away, but I won't. I can't. You've anchored me in this place; my ship won't sail without you. It's hard sometimes when all I want to do is to sail on with you, but I'll wait. I know we're waiting for each other, even if we haven't admitted it.

Some things are easy to keep inside. Those same things are often the most painful things to keep inside. Things like:

I love you.
I'm sorry.
Give us another chance.
I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere.