The days of herds and lemmings are long gone.
I am no fan of the bandwagon; neither do I relish the sweat of bushwhacking. But the sweat is true to who I was made to be, and the bandwagon is just another rut in which to be mired.
I choose the only viable option in my eyes and desperately wish for a roadmap.
But there isn’t a roadmap. There’s just this machete that I’ve been swinging like crazy, slashing a path through uncharted territory. I’m tired, a little lonely, and I don’t know if this is the right direction.
And if I’m totally honest, I have to confess I feel afraid.
Afraid this will be the time I heard incorrectly.
Afraid this will be the time I missed it.
Afraid that this will be the time I overstepped.
Afraid that this will be the time I dreamed too big.
Afraid that this will be the time I over-promised.
Afraid that You aren’t going to back me up.
I hate fear. I’m never happy when I’ve let it have the controlling vote. I rarely see an excellent decision inspired by fear. That said, over time I’ve made a few poor ones in the name of flipping fear the biggest bird I can muster, but at least I didn’t have to live with the idea that I chickened out and let fear win before I ever even tried.
Some day when I make peace with failure, I know I’m going to be really happy about that.
So fear lurks, and I feel it. Big deal.
I tighten my grip and keep swinging, keep walking, keep pushing forward into the unknown.
If I go down, I go down swinging.