Kakorrhaphiophobia

I am afraid of spiders. I am afraid of tight spaces and heights, afraid of the cold, afraid of dying and afraid of not being good enough.

I am so terrified of rejection that I will put off and procrastinate and excuse my way out of every opportunity I am given, because in my head, opportunity is only a chance to show everyone how much you can't do. 

Because of that awesome little personality quirk, I currently have very organized kitchen cabinets and sparkly grout and an inbox that looks like the Library of Congress is archiving it. My dogs have been double-bathed and the leaky faucet in the kitchen has been tinkered with and half of the holes my insane beagle has chewed in the fence have been patched and I've helped the kids start to build a skate ramp with the leftover wood and none of that is going to get me a new job, so today I forced myself to sit down and write out my résumé.

I wrote a résumé today. 

I've never done that before. Ever.

Five years ago I was a waitress. A good waitress. A really great fucking waitress. Every year before that, since I was 17, I was a waitress. You can write a résumé when you are a career waitress, but that's kind of like showing up at a punk show in a sweater vest and penny loafers. 

I was very proud of the fact that I waited tables, because it is extremely difficult work that requires high levels of mental agility, physical stamina, excellent service skills and a tolerance for alcohol high enough to make a pirate blush.

But mostly, there was no fear in it. I can wait tables in my sleep. It's easy for me, and I knew that so long as I kept up on my French Reds, I'd never, ever fail at it. I aimed just high enough to respect myself in the morning and plenty low enough to never worry about rejection.

I had no idea that I could, or would ever, write, let alone write marcom. The most I'd ever written were witty sandwich-boards that paired sexy adjectives with sultry wines and smoky jazz for Friday night happy hour crowds. Even though that's *totally* marketing, you don't get to call it that in the restaurant business...you call that opening sidework. It does you absolutely no good, it just makes five minutes of your 10 hour shift a little more interesting.

But it turns out that I can write, and rather enjoy marketing/online advertising, and now I have to find out if I'm *actually* any good enough at either to get another job doing one or the other or some amalgamation of both. Now it is time to put myself on a piece of paper in 10-point Times New Roman and ask people to tell me I am good enough for them. 

I would rather re-caulk every shower in the house than lay myself bare on résumé paper.

But I did it anyway. I spent all day dissecting what it is I do, what it is I hope to do, and what exactly it is I am so afraid of. Today, I did one thing that scares me. Today, I wrote a résumé. Tomorrow, I am going to see where it takes me.

I am afraid of spiders. I am afraid of tight spaces and heights, afraid of the cold, afraid of dying and afraid of not living up to my own potential.

Undequadraginta

I love this picture because of everything it isn't.

It isn't anywhere close to the best picture I've taken.

It's blurry

                  It's grainy

          The colors are all off

                           Oh my god, the sneakers.

But when I look at this, all I can see is the sound of laughter in the air, the feel of cold on my skin. I see, with crystal clarity, one gloriously perfect moment that flew past you both so fast it bent and blurred the world in its wake.

In that fleeting moment, I see you. I see you joyous, and I wish you 39 more years of it.