Girl, Grow a Pair

(AND FAST!)

Somewhere between obsessively color-coding my to-do list and convincing myself that “today just isn’t the day,” I realized I’d spent more time preparing to live my dream than actually living it. Cute, right? The passion is there, simmering like a pot I keep turning down so it won’t boil over and make a mess. But here’s the truth I keep trying to dodge: the mess is the point. Nobody remembers the girl who waited until everything was perfect. They remember the one who finally said screw it and jumped.

I keep giving myself these elaborate pep talks, as if, I’m about to go on stage and deliver a State of the Union type speech, except all I really need to do is… start. Write the sentence. Jot down the notes. Hit publish. Record the episode. Seriously, record the goddamn episode. Just record a zoom call with a funny gal-pal. Whatever it is. I’ve been treating my passion like a museum artifact, “look, but don’t touch.” Except I’m the lunatic both guarding the display case and begging myself to break the glass. The perfection trap is seductive. It’s whispering promises like, “But if we wait a little longer, we can get it just right.” Time is sprinting laps around me.

And here’s the kicker: I know damn well I can perform under pressure. I once had a last-minute work presentation dumped on me, imagine this; slides half-finished, room full of people, zero time to panic. So I didn’t. BAM! I stood up, opened my mouth, and somehow delivered the most confident, smooth, borderline-brilliant explanation my life. The best mouth diarrhea just poured out of my lungs, as if I’d been studying TED Talks. I walked out thinking, “Are you kidding me? I’m actually good at this.” Under pressure, I nail it. Under zero pressure? I spiral like it’s a sport.

So maybe that’s the lesson I keep pretending not to see: the magic isn’t in being ready, it’s in pulling the trigger even when I’m not. The universe doesn’t reward hesitation; it rewards audacity. It rewards the chick who shows up messy, chaotic, but unmistakably brave. The chick who decides that waiting for perfect is just fear wearing a cute outfit.

So here I am, officially calling myself out. No more planning the life I want like it’s some hypothetical screenplay. I’m done sitting on the sidelines of my own damn story. It’s time to grow a pair, seriously! Metaphorical, spiritual, whatever, and finally step into the thing that’s been tugging at me for years. Just do it. Just start. Just fucking go already. The world can handle my imperfect beginning. The only question is: can I handle my own potential? I think it’s time to find out.

-Elegantly Unhinged

xo